Bits & Pieces
by razztaztic
Summary: A home for random one-shots, FanFic challenges, etc. Each chapter unrelated to the others unless otherwise specified.
1. Sharp Dressed Boy

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_**Content moved to Roots & Wings, Chapter 20.**_

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	2. Busted

_AN: I blame this little fic totally on Va32h. She blogged about Sweets and Daisy role playing and my mind just short circuited. I can only imagine how Booth would react . . ._

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><p>.<p>

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Sweets looked up from the paperwork he was reviewing when his office door was thrown open with sudden force. Booth stood just over the threshold, his eyes narrowed in anger.

"Agent Booth?" Sweets asked in confusion when the older man stood there, unmoving, anger flowing from him in waves. Finally he looked around carefully and, with another glance over his shoulder at the empty outer office stepped in and shut the door with a snap.

He stood in place, silently staring at the shrink until Sweets rose from his chair uncertainly.

"Agent Bo . . ."

Booth raised one hand and pointed a finger at his colleague.

"You . . ." his jaw worked as he struggled for words. "You . . . ." He looked away briefly, stretched his neck and jabbed the finger toward Sweets. "Stop it!" he said forcefully.

Sweets shook his head. "Stop it? Stop what? What have I done?"

"You know," Booth said, nodding his head, his finger still in the air, directed at the other man.

"No, I really don't," Sweets answered. "Why don't you have a seat and . . ."

Booth took a step forward. "You are not me," he growled, a muscle twitching in his neck.

"Of course I'm not you," Sweets said, his brow furrowed in confusion.

As if to make sure they were alone, Booth glanced around the empty room. "So stop pretending you are," he bit out through clenched teeth, his voice low.

Sweets shook his head. "Why would I pretend I'm . . . Oh." He stared in shock at the furious agent. "Oh." For a second, he was sure he saw steam coming out of Booth's nostrils. "How do you . . . Daisy told Dr. Brennan." Sweets closed his eyes briefly then took a slow step back from his desk. "It was just . . . we didn't mean . . . you weren't supposed to . . ."

Booth glared silently.

Sweets tried a smile. "If you think about it, it's kind of flattering . . ."

"I don't want to think about it!" The finger was back, pointed at him again. "Stop it! You . . . . will . . . . stop it!"

"It wasn't . . . we just kind of . . . it was a game . . ."

"I don't want to know!" Booth closed his eyes and waved one hand in the air as it to wipe away the words. "I never want to know! Just stop it! Stop . . . it!"

"But I bought a shoulder holster . . ." Sweets voice trailed away into silence at the fire in Booth's gaze.

"You . . . No!" Booth squeezed his eyes closed. His shoulders rose as he took a couple of deep breaths. "Don't ever . . ." The fingers of one hand pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't want to think about you and . . . When Bones and I are . . ." His finger jabbed again at Sweets. "Stop it, you hear me? Stop it!"

"But Daisy does this cute . . . We'll stop," Sweets agreed when Booth took a threatening step forward.

Booth wheeled on one foot and stalked away. At the door he turned back one last time. "You . . ." he raised one finger again as his mouth worked soundlessly. Finally, he closed his eyes, shuddered and stomped away.

Sweets sank down heavily in his chair. "But I bought a shoulder holster," he murmured sadly.

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><p><em>So, now you're thinking about Daisy and Sweets pretending to be Booth and Brennan, aren't you? God help us all.<em>


	3. The Birthday Party

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_**Content moved to Roots & Wings, Chapter 22.**_

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	4. Sweet Sixteen

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_**Content moved to Roots & Wings, Chapter 26.**_

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	5. Plan B

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_**Content moved to Roots & Wings, Chapter 27.**_

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	6. The Leopard's Spots

_AN: I was looking through bitesize_bones Comment Fic Meme and saw a post from Amilyn that I just couldn't resist. She suggested _"A body attributable to Max is found. Brennan reacts."_Technically this is more Booth than Brennan but c'mon, Booth and Max? How can I resist that? _

_(This OS lives in the world I created for Max and Ruth in _On The Run_, if you're curious. But it also stands alone just fine, I think.)_

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"Brennan." Her voice was, as usual, brisk.

"Hi, honey." Max's voice was, unusually, rather tentative.

"Dad," the smile that spread across her face was in her voice when she heard his familiar greeting. She finished typing the last line of her report and then gave her full attention to her father. "How are you? Where are you?"

"I'm fine, honey," he answered, ignoring her second question. "I just wanted you to know that . . . well, there were things that happened a long time ago. Things that needed to be done."

Her brow furrowed. "What needed to be done? What are you talking about?" she asked, confused.

Max paused. "Have you talked to Booth?"

Suspicion narrowed her eyes as she stared ahead into her office without actually seeing anything. "Not since this morning. What is going on, Dad?"

"Nothing," he chirped, shaking his head as if she could see him through the phone. "Nothing at all. Oh, look at the time. Gotta go, honey. Love you!"

"Dad-" she spoke to the silence of her handset and knew he'd hung up. Lips pursed stubbornly, she immediately touched and held the number 1 on her phone and listened to the rapid tones as it dialed automatically.

"Boo . . . Bones," his greeting changed mid-word.

"I just received a very strange phone call from my father," she said immediately. "He asked me if I'd talked to you today. Why would he ask me that?"

"Where is he?" Booth answered her question with one of his own.

"He didn't say."

"What did he say?" Booth hunched one shoulder to hold the phone in place against his ear while he reached for a pen and paper.

Her free hand clenched into a fist. "What is going on, Booth?"

"Tell me what Max said, Bones." He spoke in the implacable tones of an FBI agent who expected an immediate answer, she thought, subconsciously comparing this man to the one who'd surprised her that morning by stepping into the shower with her. She took a deep breath.

"He said that things happened a long time ago, things that had to be done," she said. She heard the sound of pen moving on paper. "Booth . . ."

"Is that all?" he asked, staring down at what he'd written.

"Yes. Does that mean something? What is happening, Booth?"

She heard him sigh heavily. "Those remains we found last week . . . well, we got an ID on the guy from the composite Angela gave us."

She held her breath and waited for him to continue. When he didn't, she let it escape with a drop of her shoulders. "And?"

"His name was Carson Owens," Booth responded, turning pages in the file in front of him. "He had a long rap sheet, including a stretch for aggravated rape of a minor."

Her eyebrows met in a frown. "I don't understand what that has to do with . . ."

"He and McVicar were muscle for the group your parents got involved with," Booth added baldly.

Her heart sank. "And you think my father killed him." She spoke without inflection.

"His remains were found within 25 miles of where your mother was buried, Bones." He kept his voice soft but his hand gripped his phone so tightly he was surprised he didn't hear it crack. "And according to what you told me about how long he's been dead - well, I didn't put two and two together until I found out who he was." He sighed again and closed his eyes, squeezing the bridge of his nose with his free hand. "I have to consider the possibility."

"It is a rational hypothesis," she said simply.

"Bones . . ."

"You should probably not discuss the specifics of this case with me any longer, Booth," she interrupted. "Not unless . . . until you clear my father." She took a deep breath. "I'll have the evidence in our possession ready to be picked up by the FBI crime lab."

He hesitated. "That's probably best." Empty seconds stretched out between them. "Bones-"

"It's fine, Booth," she cut him off. "I'll see you tonight." She ended the call and stared at her phone in silence for a moment longer.

Across town, Booth tossed his phone away with a muttered curse. Pushing his chair a few inches back from the desk, he picked up the file and began reading again only to be interrupted a few minutes later by a soft knock on the metal frame of his door.

Max sauntered in without waiting for an invitation.

Booth's jaw dropped for a fraction of a second before his teeth met with a loud click. "Max," he muttered. "I was just thinking about you," he ground out, shaking the file he held in the older man's direction before throwing it down.

Max grinned broadly. "Were you now?" he asked, settling into a chair in front of Booth's desk, one ankle crossed over the other knee. "I'm always happy to be thought of."

Booth picked up a pen and clicked it open and closed as he stared narrow-eyed at the man who was, but for the lack of a few vows, his father-in-law. "What I'm thinking is what a coincidence it is that I just happen to be thinking about you and then, poof, here you are. Why is that, Max?"

The broad smile broadened. "Well, they do say coincidences are funny things, Booth."

He straightened abruptly and dropped the pen on his desk. "You know what's not funny, Max? Besides you knowing what's happening in my own goddamn office? Murder." He picked up the file and sent it flying to the older man. "Recognize him?"

Max glanced at the copy of the mugshot clipped to the side of the file before thumbing casually through the rest of the pages. "Vaguely. I think his name was Owens. I believe he was part of a life I lived a long time ago."

"He's dead."

"Huh."

"According to the squints, he was killed around the same time you and your wife disappeared."

"Really."

"What was left of him was found not far from where Ruth Keenan was buried."

"I'm sorry that she was ever anywhere near him," Max said. "Alive or dead." He tossed the file haphazardly in Booth's direction. "It also says in there that he spent 8 years in jail for raping a 14-year old girl." His smile gone, his eyes flat, he stared across the desk at the man who loved his little girl.

A muscle in Booth's jaw flexed as he stared back at Max. "Maybe if the girl's father had stuck around, he could have protected his daughter from men like that."

"And maybe if he'd stuck around he'd have gotten his whole family killed. So maybe he protected them all the only way he could." His face expressionless, Max refused to look away.

Booth's eyes narrowed to slits as he leaned forward. "You promised me you wouldn't kill anyone else," he said, his voice a harsh whisper.

The clear blue eyes began to twinkle. "I haven't."

Booth sat back with a snort. "Because this one was twenty years ago, right?"

Max stared back and remained silent.

"If I find anything - anything - that ties you to Carson Owens, I'm taking you down, Max," Booth promised, his tone deep and even.

One eyebrow lifted fractionally.

Booth sighed heavily. "But I won't find anything, will I?"

No response.

"Get out of here, Max," Booth ordered, wiping one broad hand across his mouth and jaw.

Max patted the foot that lay across one knee before switching it to the floor and standing up. "It's always nice chatting with you, Booth," he said. "Give Tempe my love, will you? She worries about me."

Booth shook his head in disgust, opening the file again as Max headed to the door. His eyes traveled over the sneer on the face in the mugshot and then down the man's rap sheet before the memory of a gentle nudge against his hand where it rested on Brennan's swollen abdomen filled his thoughts.

"Max." The softly spoken word stopped him as he exited. He looked back and waited.

"Fathers should protect their daughters," Booth said with a lift of his chin as he met the old man's eyes.

Max held his gaze for a long moment and then nodded. "Whatever it takes." He patted the frame of the door and walked away, whistling.

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><p><em>Personally, I think Booth wouldn't have any problem killing for his daughter. But that's just me.<em>


	7. One Last Dance

_AN: I hope you'll pardon my indulgence but I'm having a moment. One of the difficult things about growing up - and getting older - is losing the people who gave your childhood and youth color and flavor and sound. Those moments come without warning and somehow feel even more personal when they touch memories you haven't thought of in a long time. _

_I has a sad, and when I has a sad, I write._

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Brennan entered the house through the garage. Pausing in the kitchen to put the bag of groceries she carried on the counter, she heard the sound of the TV coming from the living room.

"I'm home, Booth," she called out, as she began to transfer items from the bag to the refrigerator. Not hearing a response, she put away the carton of almond milk already in her hand before crossing to the doorway. Booth stood in the center of the room, the remote control held loosely in the hand that hung at his side, staring up at the black and white images flashing across the TV. "Booth?"

Startled out of his focus, he glanced over his shoulder. "Hey. When did you get home?" His smile was a quick reflex before he turned back to the TV.

"Just now." She stepped up beside him and glanced from his face to the TV. "Is something wrong?"

He shrugged. "Dick Clark died today."

"I'm sorry," she replied. "Was he a friend?"

"What?" He looked at her and laughed. "No, Dick Clark." He rolled his eyes at the lack of recognition on her face. "American Bandstand?" Nothing. He sighed. "The guy on the New Year's Eve countdown?"

"Oh, I remember watching that with you this year!" she replied. "There were two men - are you referring to the younger one or the older man who showed signs of having suffered a stroke?"

"The older one," he explained, shaking his head slightly as he looked back at the TV. Brennan followed his gaze again.

"And you knew him?"

"Well, I didn't know him personally," Booth said, "but come on, Bones - American Bandstand! You gotta know that!"

She shook her head. "I'm sorry, Booth."

He tapped the end of her nose with his index finger. "I need to talk to Max about your lack of a normal childhood. American Bandstand was a music show on Saturday afternoons." He pointed to the TV. "It started in Philly," he explained. "They'd bring in all these kids - teenagers - and they'd listen to music and dance and put the whole thing on TV. They'd have the artists on stage, too, with whatever song was a hit then. Not ringing a bell?" he asked, snickering when she shook her head again.

"Dick Clark, you know, he made careers for some of those groups." He crossed his arms over his chest as he watched TV. "Back before the internet and CDs and mixtapes, you had radio and records and live music and that was it. If you made it on Bandstand, you were something." He laughed as the images of young adults in bell-bottoms and leisure suits filled the screen. "When I got older I was into different music but when I was a kid, my mom loved American Bandstand." His face reflected a wealth of happy memories as he spoke. "Me and Jared, we'd get up on Saturday mornings and watch cartoons but in the afternoon, Mom would turn on Bandstand and we'd push back the couch and dance in the living room."

Brennan couldn't help laughing, too, enjoying the trip back in time with him. "All three of you?"

"Oh, yea," he nodded, his grin wide. "Jared was little so she'd pick him up and dance around the room with him. And then me, she'd grab my hands and we'd spin and turn and sometimes, she'd teach me the same moves the kids were doing on TV." He twirled his arms around each other and elbowed her. "Do the hustle!" he sang, letting the spin slow to a stop, making a funny face when Brennan only watched, chuckling at his enthusiastic performance. His shoulders lifted with the breath he took as he turned back to the TV. "Those were good times," he said softly.

"I can see that," she murmured, her eyes fixed on his profile, her voice gentle.

The music accompanying the dance scene changed and he turned to her with excitement. "Oh, this is a great song, Bones!" He tossed the remote to the couch and grabbed for her hands. "Dance with me!"

She attempted to free herself without success. "I don't know these steps, Booth," she laughed, trouncing his toes as she stepped forward when she should have stepped back.

"Just follow my lead, baby," he answered, his eyes sparkling, pushing her out the length of his arms and then pulling her in close as he twirled with her. She was wrong more than she was right, crashing into him as the snippets of music faded one into the other, the rhythm of the songs changing with each different clip playing behind the tribute to America's oldest teenager, but he didn't complain and she stopped thinking about it and they both gave themselves up to simply enjoying the moment until the sound of a baby crying drifted down from upstairs. He brought the impromptu dance to an end by drawing her up tight in his arms.

She draped her arms around his neck, still smiling. "We should dance like this with Christine," she whispered, wanting to help him hold on to this moment and those fragile memories of the mother he so rarely spoke of.

His eyes roved over her face, accepting and appreciating the gesture for what it was. "We will," he rasped huskily, dropping his head for a kiss that was interrupted by another loud wail from their daughter.

With a laugh, she slipped free of his embrace and headed upstairs. Booth picked up the remote and stared at the TV for a moment longer.

"For now, so long, Dick," he said, adding a salute before he clicked the TV off.

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><p><em>If you're of a certain age, you have memories like that. Watching the dancers, trying to copy their moves, doing your best to memorize them for the next school dance. My living room never had a disco ball but if I closed my eyes, I could almost see one. Good times.<br>_

_Rest in peace, Dick Clark._


	8. You Can't Go Back

_AN: _The Suit on the Set_ notwithstanding, I've been a little miffed with the last couple of episodes and what they've done with Brennan. Between my reaction to the eps and the hassle of packing and moving to a new apartment, my creativity level dropped significantly. My mellow has been harshed and I'm still feeling a bit bitter about it so if you sense an undercurrent of anger, that's the well this was pulled from. I'm over her - really! - but I had to have a target to kickstart my writing muse again and I can't think of a better one._

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_Just knock_, she whispered to herself after several minutes passed by when she did nothing but stand in front of the door and stare at the peephole as if she could see through it and into the apartment. She closed her fingers into a fist, raised it then clutched it to her chest, eyes closed as she took several deep breaths. _Just knock,_she repeated silently. Without letting herself think about it further, she rapped quickly and took one step back.

The door remained closed, taking a bit of wind out of her anxious sails. She stepped forward and knocked again.

"He's not there." A door finally opened, but it was the one behind her.

She turned sharply, long blonde hair flying around her face. "Mrs. Ross! Hi!" Somewhat unsure of herself she pointed behind her to the door that remained closed. "I was just . . . um . . ." She smiled. "I'm in town for a few days and thought I'd stop by to say hello to Seeley."

The old woman leaned against the door frame. "Sorta figured that's why you were knocking. But he's not there."

A younger version of the old woman appeared at her elbow. "Mother?" Her eyes widened when she saw Hannah standing in the hallway. "Oh!"

"Hello, Ellen," she offered hesitantly. "I called his office," she addressed Mrs. Ross again, "and they . . . they told me he was home for the day so . . ."

"He might be," Mrs. Ross nodded. "but they moved."

"Mother." The younger woman's voice held a warning.

"Oh, I wasn't aware . . ." Hannah's voice faded into silence. "Um . . . you said 'they'? Does Parker live with Seeley now?"

Mrs. Ross shook her head. "Not as far as I know, but I guess they've got room for him now that they bought that big house."

"I'm sorry," Hannah frowned, confused. "I've been away . . . I don't know what . . . um . . . Seeley bought a house?"

'Yea. Him and that doctor lady." The old woman's face betrayed no emotion. "You remember the one who talks like an encyclopedia?"

Hannah nodded slowly, her eyes wide. "Temperance? Seeley and . . . and Temperance?" she stammered. "Seeley and Temperance bought a house?"

"Mother," Ellen whispered urgently.

"I guess they got tired of going back and forth from his place to hers," Mrs. Ross said. "Especially with her ready to pop. Good thing, too - they barely got that house done in time."

"Mother!"

Hannah stared at Mrs. Ross in silence for a long moment, her face blank. "Pop?" she managed finally.

"Yep. For such a little thing she sure got big as a house." Mrs. Ross swayed a bit, scratching her back against the door frame. "I took one look at her and told her it was gonna be a girl, too. Didn't I, Ellen?" she asked, her eyes still watching Hannah. "Didn't I tell her she was having a girl?"

"Mother!" Her daughter ground out the word between clenched teeth.

Hannah's mouth open and closed several times but no sound escaped. Finally she cleared her throat and tried again. "Seeley and . . . and Temperance . . . " Her head jerked slightly. "Temperance and Seeley . . . they have a baby?"

"Mmm," Mrs. Ross nodded. "Prettiest little thing you ever saw. We have a birth announcement - you want to see it?"

"Mother . . . " Ellen looked at her angrily.

Hannah's chest rose and fell perceptibly as she stared at Mrs. Ross. "Yes," she said quietly. "Yes, I would love to see it."

With one foot, the neighbor nudged her daughter. "Go get that announcement off the fridge," she ordered. Shooting a sympathy-filled glance at the young blonde, Ellen disappeared but was back in seconds, holding the glossy square out.

Hannah reached for it slowly, and stared at the photo in silence for several minutes. "She is beautiful," she said finally, her voice husky, her thumb stroking over the baby's image.

"Yep," Mrs. Ross agreed. "That boy's happier than a cat in a canary cage now. Got his boy, that baby girl and the doctor lady - he always wanted a family." The faded eyes glinted maliciously. "But then you'd know that, wouldn't you?"

"Mother!" Ellen hissed.

Hannah flinched, the announcement shaking in her hands, but when she met Mrs. Ross' gaze, her eyes were dry. "Yes." She swallowed hard. "Yes, I do know that." She looked at the baby again. "And I'm happy that he has what he always wanted," she added in a whisper. She nodded once then squared her shoulders. "Thank you, Mrs. Ross, for all your help."

"Hey," the old woman called out when Hannah turned to leave. "You gonna keep that?"

Hannah looked down at the baby announcement she'd forgotten she still held. 'I'm sorry." She returned it with a tight smile. "Of course not. Thanks again." The two women watched in silence as she hurried away.

Ellen rounded on her mother as soon as Hannah disappeared from view. "Mother, that was needlessly cruel!" she exclaimed.

The old woman shrugged and stepped back into the apartment. "Yea, well, sometimes I just feel like being mean," she said and closed the door with a snap.

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><p>Seriously, I'm over her. I'm just feeling pissy and this helps.<p> 


	9. Two Can Play

_AN: Written for the "what if?" comment fic meme on Bones Gamblers Anonymous. The prompt was from Va32h:_ "Gamer in the Grease - what if things got a little touchy feely during the Punky Pong game?"

_Well, here's an idea . . . . . _

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". . . What? . . . I don't understand . . ."

"You're dead. My turn." Booth tried to nudge her out of the way gently with a bump of his wide shoulder. When that didn't work, he crowded into her space until she was forced to move.

"I can't have died already!"

"See that "Player Two" right there?" Booth tapped the screen. "You're dead. My turn. Move." He centered himself in front of the game before glancing over at her casually. "You might want to take a seat, Bones. I'll probably be here a while."

He didn't laugh at her irritated, pursed-lip face until after she'd spun on her heel away from him but she heard his rich chuckle anyway. Immediately, she was at his side again.

She didn't nudge gently; she put both hands on one hard arm and shoved. Surprised, he stumbled to the side. "Hey!"

"This is a stupid game and I am not going to let it beat me," she muttered. She jabbed at the START button and within seconds, blew up spectacularly.

"Aw, come on!" Booth groaned. "That was me! You're ruining my score!" He tried to muscle his way in front of the game again but she stood her ground and refused to budge.

"I will not be bested by a collection of wires and electronics and outmoded graphics!" she declared. He grabbed her wrist before she could smash her hand down on the START button again.

"Okay, okay," he agreed. "You can play one more man and then it's my turn. Here, let me show you . . ." He stepped behind her, bracketing her smaller frame within his arms as he placed each of his hands over hers on the controls. Her throat went dry. "See, you've got to spread your fingers like this . . . cover all those buttons so you can hit the ones you need . . ."

His soft voice was a husky rasp beside her ear, his breath moving in her hair as he spoke. She looked down at the broad hand covering hers, noticing as if for the first time the smooth skin of the long fingers that rested against her own. She controlled her breathing with difficulty; unfortunately, she had no such mastery over her suddenly racing heartbeat.

He switched his attention to her other hand, leaning forward a fraction of an inch to look at the controller. "This thing, the joystick?" She tried to nod but the movement was more of a jerk of her head, her senses overwhelmed by the feel of his chest pressing against her back. The heat from his body surrounded her. "This thing controls where you go. Wrap your hand around it like this-" He lifted her boneless hand in his, fitting her fingers beneath his around the narrow shaft. "See? Left . . . right . . . back . . . forward . . ." He rotated the joystick, her hand trapped between his palm and the hard metal.

She struggled to keep her eyes open; with every breath she inhaled him, the sharp, crisp, earthy scent that was just . . . Booth . . . filling her nostrils and warming her blood.

He lifted his hand from hers, hit the START button and was immediately back as the game began. "You've gotta pay attention, Bones, see?" he murmured, his eyes on the screen. "You've gotta watch everything, look out for the little signals . . ." His body jerked against hers as he played the game, crushing her fingers beneath his as he directed the controller. Her breath became shallow; her tongue flicked out to lick suddenly dry lips. "If you keep your eyes open you can tell what's going to happen . . ."

Without warning, she spun within the circle of his arms, threw her arms around his neck and drew him down to meet her kiss. There was an barely audible "oompf!" followed by a fraction of a second of hesitation on his part before he locked his arms around her and pulled her even closer. He kissed her back and then he took over, those long fingers tangling in her hair to hold her in place while their tongues battled and they each drew breath from the other's mouth.

Behind them, a merry tune signaled the death of the final player.

"I love that game," Brennan muttered against his lips as she tugged at the buttons of his shirt.

He sucked in a harsh breath as her hands skimmed up the hard planes of his chest. "I'm buying one tomorrow," he agreed immediately.


	10. High on Life

_Written for the Comment Fic Meme on BGA. This prompt came from _FOURTH ROSE_: _"Man in the Fallout Shelter - What if Brennan had gotten high on the anti-fungus meds instead of Booth?"

_Yea, I wonder what might have happened then?_

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"I never realized how pretty all this shiny stuff is."

Hodgins glared at Brennan. "That is so not fair."

She stepped out of line, still staring in bemusement at the lights above. "Look how everything sparkles . . . Angela!" She turned sharply and advanced quickly on the surprised artist. "Why didn't you tell me how pretty and sparkly everything is?"

Angela bit back a smile, "Well, I didn't think you were really interested in pretty and sparkly, Brennan."

"What?" Brennan replied, aghast. "I love sparkly!" She grabbed Angela's chin and forced her head up. "Look! Look how everything sparkles!"

"Bones!" Booth put a hand on hers, forcing her to release Angela. "You're just stoned again. You know, for someone who can drink everyone under the table you sure have a low tolerance for . . ."

She clutched at his arm. "Isn't everything beautiful, Booth? Look at that green light in the ceiling! Do you see how the color bounces off the exposed metal grid supporting the roof?"

Booth looked at the group behind her trying not to laugh out loud and barely restrained his own merriment. "Yea, Bones, green light. Pretty."

She stamped her foot. "You're not looking!" She was behind him before he knew she'd moved. Pressed against his back, she put one hand on each of his cheeks and tilted his head upward. "Look!" His shoulders shook with silent laughter. "Oooh, there's a red one!" She forcefully turned his head to the right. "Isn't it . . . Oh." The tone of her voice changed significantly.

She glanced at the broad back right in front of her and tilted away from him very slightly. Her hands slid from his face down the sides of his neck to glide across his wide shoulders. "Your trapezius and deltoid muscles are very well developed, Booth. They're very firm."

He froze in place, afraid to breathe. "Uh . . . Bones . . ."

Her hands slipped lower. "Your latissimus dorsi are very pleasing as well," she murmured as she continued to stroke his back. Her fingers dug tiny furrows into his shirt. "They're very resilient."

She felt more than heard the faint growl he couldn't help when he felt her short fingernails scraping along his skin through the two layers he wore. "Bones," he choked out, "maybe . . ."

"The heavy musculature of your torso emphasizes the difference in the ratio of the width of your clavicles to your ilia," she whispered, her busy hands sweeping up the outside of his body from his hips to under his arms. God help him, he could feel the warm brush of her breath against the back of his neck as she leaned in closer, humming in appreciation.

"Oh, God," he groaned, gritting his teeth when her arms curved around him, her hands spreading over his chest.

"I wonder if your pectoral . . ."

"Okay!" Angela interrupted brightly as she stepped forward and tugged Brennan away. "Why don't we go look at the pretty lights in bone storage?"

Brennan reluctantly allowed herself to be detached from Booth. "You should touch his deltoids, Angela. He's very well developed."

Angela slanted a sly grin at Booth's reddening profile. "Oh, I'm sure he is," she murmured. Booth shook his head and refused to turn around. When their voices had faded down the hallway, loud guffaws erupted from Hodgins and Goodman.

"Oh, man," Hodgins laughed. "If you could see your face . . ."

Booth cleared his throat noisily as he slipped behind a nearby waist-high counter. "She doesn't know what she's doing," he mumbled. "And we won't remind her tomorrow, either!" he ordered with a stern look at the two men still chuckling. "Now, what are the sleeping arrangements for tonight?"

.

"This sleeping bag is very rustley," Brennan complained as she lay on the floor of her office, her head close to Angela's.

Angela chuckled. "'Rustley?"

"Yes," she nodded. "It means the bag makes a rustling noise every time I move."

"I know what you mean," her friend laughed. "I was just surprised to hear you use that kind of word." She paused for a moment. "Brennan, I know it's against your nature, but I need your help."

"Oh!" Brennan's head swiveled toward her in excitement. "I love to help! What am I going to help you do?"

"You know, I like you when you're buzzed," Angela grinned. "You are going to help me make Christmas!"

Brennan clapped her hands happily. "Yay! I'm going to help you make Christmas! What does that mean?" Without waiting for an answer, she grabbed a lock of Angela's hair. "Your hair always smells so good," she said, holding it under her nose.

Angela's lips curved but she answered solemnly, "Thank you, sweetie."

Brennan's eyes widened. "You know who else always smells good? Booth!" She sat up and scooted out of the sleeping bag. "I should tell him."

"No, honey, I don't think-" Struggling to sit up, Angela reached for her arm but grasped only air. Before she could prevent it, Brennan had slipped from the room. She shook her head and fell back to the floor with a sigh. "He's a big boy," she yawned, waving one hand languidly. "He can take care of himself."

Brennan ran down the hallway and came to a skidding stop just outside the open door to Goodman's office. She tucked her body stiffly against the wall then bent at the waist and peeked in.

"Psssst!"

Booth paused in the act of returning a photo to his wallet; with identical movements, he and Goodman turned their heads toward the door.

Brennan's head and torso popped into view again. "Psssst!"

"Bones?"  
>"Dr. Brennan?"<p>

One slender forearm appeared, her hand gesturing frantically as she hissed, "Booth!"

Goodman cleared his throat, his lips twitching as he looked at Booth. "Perhaps you should find out what it is the good doctor wants?"

"Yea." Booth pushed himself up from the floor and went to the door. "What's up, Bones?"

She grabbed his arm. "I have something to tell you, Booth," she stated seriously, her eyes holding his intently.

"Okay," he nodded slowly and leaned against the door frame. "What is it?"

"Not here!" she shook her head so fast it made his own hurt, her fingers biting into his arm as she pulled him into the hallway. Head swiveling to the left and right she surveyed the rooms ahead, picked one and shoved him inside, slamming the door behind them.

"Bones, what the hell-" He stared at her in surprise when she pushed him up against the nearest wall.

She held him in place with a hand on each shoulder. "You. Smell. Good." she declared.

Shocked, he blinked at her in silence. "Okay," he responded finally. "Thank you?"

"No, Booth," she shook her head earnestly. "You smell really good. All the time!" She gripped his shoulders just a bit tighter and shook him gently. "All the time!"

He couldn't stop the grin that lit his face as he held her bright, intense gaze. "Well - thanks, Bones. I'm glad you- Oh!"

She leaned forward, pressed her face into his neck and inhaled deeply. "All the time, Booth," she murmured. "You smell good all the time!"

He swallowed as goose bumps rose when her lips tickled his skin as she spoke. "Bones, maybe you should . . . oh, God . . ."

The tip of her nose traveled slowly up to rest in the hollow below his ear. "So good, Booth . . ." She shifted against him, her body pressed firmly into his.

His fingers curled and clawed into the wall behind him when he felt her tongue against his earlobe. "Bones . . ."

"Why do you always smell so good, Booth?" she whispered, nuzzling into him with a sensual purr.

His eyes wouldn't stay open. "I just . . . Jesus Mother Mary Joseph . . ." His knees threatened to collapse beneath him when her teeth scraped beneath his jaw.

"So good, Booth . . ." She released his shoulders, cradled his face in her hands and kissed him.

He tried. For all of . . . well, at least 30 seconds passed before he let go of the wall behind him and crushed her against his chest. No matter how tight he held her, she tried to burrow closer, linking her arms behind his head and standing on her toes as she tried to squeeze into his skin.

She kept up a mumbling commentary, too, a word or two escaping every time their mouths parted to allow them to breath or him to nibble his way down her neck and back to the swollen, well-kissed pout of her lips. Mostly he ignored the random muttering, nodding at "cologne" or "pheromones" and whispering replies neither one heard or understood. One word finally caught his attention.

"Tequila?" he whispered, dragging his hands through her hair when her tongue swirled against his ear again.

"mmmm," she answered several minutes later. "You don't taste like tequila."

A long while later, fighting for control against her wandering hands, he managed "Why would I taste like tequila?"

By the time she got around to answering him, she'd almost forgotten the question. "When I think about kissing you, you always taste like tequila."

He couldn't be expected to converse, not when she tore his t-shirt trying to pull it over his head. Somewhere between kissing his way from the swell of one breast to the other, he remembered. "Do you think about kissing me a lot?"

"Yesssssssss . . ." He wasn't absolutely sure she was answering his question at that moment but decided to let it go.

When her hands fumbled at his belt buckle, his attention was so focused he almost didn't hear her whisper, "Do you think about kissing me?"

"God yes," he rasped, dragging her head down to his for a kiss that seared them both to their toes. It was only when he surfaced that he realized he was lying on his back on the floor of the office, Brennan's body covering his. A cold dose of reality swept through him and he grasped both of her searching hands in his. "Bones, we can't do this."

"What?" Her head swept up in alarm. "Why?"

He tucked a thick dark curl behind her ear. "Because you're all woo woo from the drugs and tomorrow you'll be sorry."

Her bright blue eyes turned smokey as she dipped her head and captured his lips again. "Booth," she said when the kiss finally ended, "those drugs wore off ages ago."

His eyes burned hot as he flipped her to her back, cradling her head in one wide hand to protect it from bumping against the hard floor. "And you said Santa Clause doesn't exist," he teased.

.

.

Dr. Goodman never mentioned that Booth did not return to his office that night.

Angela never stopped begging Brennan for details.

.

* * *

><p><em>Come on, you know Booth smells good.<em>


	11. The Tribe Has Spoken

_AN: Written for the fanfic challenge at Bonesology in honor of Laffer's birthday. The instructions are as follows:_

"Well, well, well . . . we haven't had a challenge here in a while and we figured . . . what better reason to have another than to celebrate Laffers' birthday? And since she really doesn't like Daisy, the parameters are rather easy:

1. In the story, Daisy must either die or already be dead.

2. Sweets *cannot* die or be dead. Save the baby duck.

3. The death must be explained and you get extra points for creativity.

4. All fics are due by or on July 4th, 2012...Laffers' actual birthdate.

_Kill Daisy? Well, I don't mind if I do . . . _

* * *

><p><em>.<br>_

_.  
><em>

_.  
><em>

The camera pulled out wide as he made his way slowly down the carefully created natural pathway. He arranged his face to reflect the deep thought and sincere regret he'd decided (after hours of practice in front of a mirror) was the most appropriate expression to wear and gave the signal to begin recording.

The host, Jamie Pabst, began speaking. "In the twenty-five years _Surviving_ has been on the air," he said, his voice perfectly modulated and cultivated to remove any trace of an identifiable accent, "we have had our share of misfortune. Our contestants have been struck by illness, felled by disease and some have even been sent home early to recover from injuries received as they competed. But never have we suffered the loss of one of our own." The artfully applied silver highlights in the hair at his temples glinted in the fire from nearby torches when he reached the bottom of the path and stopped. "Until now."

Camera 2 immediately panned to a rattan easel and a young woman who smiled brightly from the large photo placed there. Pabst walked over to stand beside it. He made sure his profile was presented within range of Camera 2 and looked at the image in an appropriately mournful way. "Ms. Daisy Wick," he murmured. "So young and taken from us much too soon."

Off to the side, a not-so-delicate snort was heard, followed by a grunted "ouch!" and then a whispered, "Sorry."

He turned to face a group of four women seated on an overturned log. Camera 1 followed as he moved closer. "These women, the rest of the members of the Ooga Booga tribe, were the last to see Daisy alive. Ladies," he said delicately, "our deepest sympathies are with you. I'm sure this must be very difficult."

The four women exchanged glances. "Um, yea." Diana, the oldest of the group, answered. "It so . . . hard . . . to accept that she's gone."

"Totally." Rachel, seated next to Diana agreed. After a moment's hesitation she added a deep sigh.

"We're devastated." Linda, the last girl on the log, splayed her hand across her chest dramatically. "Absolutely devastated."

Sitting between Rachel and Linda, the fourth girl, Melanie, examined her nails. Linda elbowed her in the side unobtrusively. Her head popped up. "It's a tragedy," she nodded.

Pabst waved off the makeup girl who'd appeared to pat down his shiny forehead while the camera was on the girls. "Due to the fact that you lost several challenges, you've been in the center of the island for almost a month." His eyebrows spasmed as he tried to force the Botoxed muscles into a frown. "Do you feel a sense of guilt that you were unable to report her disappearance for several days?"

Melanie snorted again. Out of the camera's angle, Rachel stomped on her foot. "It's a tragedy," she repeated quickly.

"We didn't realize she was actually missing," Diana said quickly. "She was some kind of anthropologist, you know," she explained, "and she was always going off to look at what she thought was a burial site or something. When she didn't come back we thought . . ." Her voice trailed off. Stuck, she looked to the other women for help.

"Yes!" Linda took up the story. "Yes, exactly. We . . . didn't know. That she was missing, I mean," she rushed to add. "We just thought she'd found the missing link or something." After an uncomfortable moment of silence followed, she brightened. "You know, Daisy is the one who gave us our name. The . . . Ooga Boogas." She forced a smile.

"That's right!" Rachel joined the conversation with a wide smile. "I wanted to call us Hera's Hotties - I'm a Greek Studies major," she simpered. "But no," she continued, her smile becoming fixed. "Daisy wouldn't hear of it. She insisted on . . . on the Ooga Boogas." She grimaced. "Very forcefully."

"Because," Diana interjected loudly, "because the Ooga Boogas were native to this area before they went extinct. She told us all about them. All about them." She nodded and smiled at the other women with her teeth tightly clenched. "So we were happy - thrilled! - to be the Ooga Boogas. Right?"

Rachel and Linda immediately nodded and agreed. Melanie rolled her eyes. "Yea, so she'd shut the hell up."

Linda laughed hysterically, slapping her on the back hard enough to bend her forward. "That's our Mel - always making jokes!"

Eyes watering, Melanie nodded quickly. "Yea, just kidding! It's a tragedy."

Pabst, who had been checking his teeth in the small mirror attached to Camera 1, turned back quickly when they fell silent. "It must have been such a shock to you when her body was found."

"You can say that again," Melanie muttered.

Diana cleared her throat loudly. "Yes! Yes, it was such a shock! We were . . . we were totally shocked."

"But it's so lucky, really," Rachel hurried, "because, you know, if her body had been covered correctly . . ." her eyes slid to Melanie and Linda, "it might have taken years to uncover her." She studied her feet intently. "At the bottom of that gorge."

Melanie and Linda avoided each others eyes carefully.

Pabst looked on the four women with insincere pity. "And she was in such an horrific state," he tsked. "How horrible it must have been for her to have all of that sap gluing her mouth shut as she tumbled to the bottom."

"It's a tragedy," Melanie said.

"Well," Pabst laughed, "I'll certainly be talking to our research department, too. They assured us there were no wild monkeys on this island but for that poor girl to be snatched bald like that, well," he shrugged, "what other explanation is there but wild monkeys?"

Diana bit her lip and covered her eyes with one hand. "Damn monkeys," she muttered, her shoulders shaking.

Rachel buried her face in Diana's shoulder, patting her back sympathetically. "Damn monkeys," she agreed, her voice breaking.

"It's a tragedy," Melanie agreed, dry eyed as she stared into the camera.

Eyes closed tightly, Linda turned her head away, her chin wobbling.

Camera 1 came in for a close up on Pabst as he finished the segment. "It is a tragedy," he intoned with a solemn nod. "Yes, indeed. Those few words say so much about the life of Ms. Daisy Wick, cut sadly short as she competed for the $1,000,000 prize given to the winners of _Surviving_. But let her life not be in vain!" he continued dramatically. "To give them time to mourn the loss of their friend . . . their tribe-mate . . . the remaining members of the Ooga Boogas will be given immunity and will be exempt from the next two challenges. Ladies," he put his hand over his heart, "it is the least we can do in your time of sorrow."

The women inclined their heads, looking sad but grateful. In the space between them, Linda and Melanie bumped fists discreetly.

Pabst walked over to a tall, brightly flaming torch. "Normally at this time someone is given the unwelcome news that their tribe has voted them off the island and they are sent home. Tonight," he said, his voice dropping funereally, "the ultimate Chief of the Tribe of Man has spoken." He raised one-half of the shell of a coconut. "Daisy Wick, you are now in that big island in the sky," he said and snuffed the torch out with the coconut.

.

.

.

.

.

.

There was a moment of silence in Brennan's office when the TV went dark for a split second before the opening bars of a Kit Kat commercial began. Booth reached for the remote and clicked it off.

For a few minutes the only sound was that of Sweets sniffling.

Angela and Hodgins exchanged a glance. "That's completely . . ." Hodgins began, pausing when Angela shot him a silent warning. " . . . so sad," he continued.

"I told her not to go," Sweets lamented. "I warned her that Maluku didn't prepare her for that kind of primitive environment."

Brennan frowned at the blank face of the TV and then at Booth. "I don't understand," she said. "That story-"

Booth shook his head quickly. "Let's just-"

Angela stood up and hurried over to Sweets. "You know what you need, sweetie?" she asked. "A drink. Maybe two." She put an arm around his shoulders and led him from the room. "Why don't we go spend some of Jack's money on really expensive scotch?"

Hodgins nodded at Booth and followed them out. "Nothing drowns grief like a good single malt." His voice faded away as the three of them headed downstairs.

Brennan was still frowning at Booth. "That story was a complete fabrication, Booth. Those women . . ."

He shook his head again. "We're gonna let this one go, Bones." He put his hands on her shoulders and propelled her out of the office.

"But Booth-"

"Let it go, Bones."

"We can't-"

"Yes, we can."

"Booth-"

"Let it go."

.

.

.

.

* * *

><p><em>Happy Birthday, Laffers! :-)<em>


	12. A Good Day to Die

_Written for the Bite-sized Bones Comment Fic Meme. "Anonymous" wrote: _Pain in the Heart - What if Booth hadn't trusted Sweets to tell Brennan he was alive?

_(This takes a lot of liberties with the canon parts of this episode but it's fanfiction so I'm allowed, right? Right. Carry on.)_

_.  
><em>

_.  
><em>

* * *

><p>.<p>

.

"Brennan, honey?" Angela stopped in the office doorway and stared with concern at her best friend. The anthropologist's hands were poised in the air above her keyboard, her fingers curled as if she were about to place them on the dark letters but she'd been holding that position for the five minutes Angela had been watching. She wasn't even looking at the monitor. Instead she was looking past it at some indistinguishable spot on the wall. She was pale, her skin blanched and devoid of color.

"Brennan?" When there was still no response Angela stepped to her side and touched her shoulder gently. "Sweetie?"

Brennan started violently, her hands dropping with a clatter to the keyboard. Immediately she began shuffling papers and rearranging the items on top of her desk before suddenly, without ever looking at Angela, she pushed back in her chair and stood up.

"I'm going home for the rest of the day," she said in a monotone. "If anyone is looking for me . . ." Her throat worked convulsively. "I'm going home."

Angela stood back to let her gather her jacket and bag, concern etched in the line that formed between her eyebrows. "Are you okay, hon? Is this about Booth? I knew you shouldn't have come in today. Do you want to talk about it? We could go . . ."

"I'll be at home." Brennan hurried out before anyone could stop her.

.

.

When her apartment door finally closed behind her she slumped against it, eyes closed, and hung there for a moment before sliding completely to the floor. Forehead resting on her knees she sat there and let time pass unheeded as she struggled to draw breath.

_Cullen opened the door to the waiting room, his expression weary. Everyone stood up anxiously. Brennan took two steps toward him._

_"How is he? Can we see him now?"_

_Cullen wiped one tired hand across his face. "He . . ." He broke off, his jaw clenched._

_Angela clutched at Brennan's arm, looking fearfully at Booth's boss. "Something's wrong."_

_"What?" Brennan looked from her friend to Cullen in confusion. "No, the surgery was just a simple extraction. I saw the entrance wound. It missed his heart by several centimeters." She shook off Angela's hand and tried to step past him. "Booth should be-"_

_"Dead," the deputy director stated baldly. "He had a reaction to the anesthesia - he coded on the operating table and-"_

_"Oh my God," Angela whispered brokenly, breaking down into tears as Hodgins pulled her into a tight embrace, his own expression twisted in shock. Cam flinched as if she'd taken a punch to the stomach and sank down heavily to the sofa, her face frozen in grief._

_Brennan stared at Cullen in shocked silence. "No." She shook her head, her chin angled defiantly. "I don't believe you." When she attempted to go around him again he stopped her with a firm grip. _

_"Dr. Brennan ," he shook his head. "I'm sorry."_

_"I don't believe you," she said again. "I need to see Booth."_

_He held her eyes. "They're only allowing family . . ."_

_She jerked as if he'd struck her, all of the color leeching from her face. Without another word she pulled out of Cullen's grasp, spun on her heel and propelled herself out of the waiting room and into the artificial light of the hospital parking lot. She had a vague memory of Angela's broken voice calling her name. _

She lifted her head from her knees and let it thump back against the door. When had that happened? Last night? Yesterday? Had it really been only yesterday? Not even 24 hours since . . . She rubbed at eyes that felt gritty and heavy from exhaustion and lack of sleep.

She got to her feet and shuffled to the living room, only to collapse again on the sofa.

Not even 24 hours . . .

_Dead._

_. . . only family . . . _

Her phone chirped from the depths of her bag. She ignored it.

A few minutes later it beeped again. She looked toward the purse she'd let fall to the floor near the front door but couldn't summon the energy to retrieve it. Instead she slipped sideways and lay half on, half off the long couch, trying to ignore the ball of grief and fury that threatened to claw its way out of her chest.

When her phone trilled again she cursed loudly and used the anger as an impetus to thrust herself up from the sofa. Hands shaking she ripped the phone out of her bag.

_hey_

_._

_._  
><em>hello?<em>

_._

_._

_bones?_

She stared at the messages in shock, her mind blank. She focused on the number, trying to make sense of . . .

_Who is this?_  
><em>me. who else?<em>

Her heart skittered to a stop and then resumed with a heavy thud.

_Booth?_  
><em>yea<em>

Her fingers tightened on the phone until she thought her bones might splinter.

_Seeley Booth?_  
><em>dont call me seeley<em>  
><em>u ok?<em>

Her eyes narrowed as a wave of white-hot rage swept through her.

_Where are you?_  
><em>home. where else wold i b?<em>

She literally growled when those words popped up and then impulsively threw the phone across the room. Almost before it shattered spectacularly against the wall, the door slammed behind her and she was gone.

.

.

Booth shifted uncomfortably in his old chair, wincing as the wound in his chest twinged and stared at his phone as he waited for her to respond. When it remained obstinately silent he frowned and tossed it to the small table between his chair and the couch. He rubbed at his forehead; the pain medication they'd given him when he was sent home last night had left a residual headache that still plagued him.

He took a deep swig from the bottle of water at his elbow and grimaced at the tepid temperature. With a glance in the direction of his kitchen, he briefly considered going to the fridge for a cold replacement but let it go when his shoulder throbbed again. Groaning faintly, he tugged the thin blanket in his lap over the bare shoulder not in a sling and closed his eyes.

A few minutes later he was jolted out of the light doze he'd fallen into by a fist beating on his door. Disoriented, he looked at it groggily.

"BOOTH!" Bang. Bang. Bang.

Bang. Bang. "BOOTH!"

He shook off the fuzz in his head. Christ, she was going to screw everything up . . .

He moved a bit too fast in his attempt to get out of the chair quickly, flinching with every step as he made his way across the floor and trying to use the sling he wore to keep his shoulder immobile and minimize the jarring. He yanked the door open.

"Bones, for crying out loud, keep it-" He caught a brief glimpse of Mrs. Ross peeking out curiously from across the hall before Brennan shoved him backward, marched in and slammed his door so hard something inside fell off a shelf. Her gaze hot, she looked him up and down.

And then she punched him.

"You son of a bitch!"

He stumbled back two steps from the force and surprise of her blow.

"Hey!"

She advanced on him and punched him again.

"What the hell-"

"They told me you were dead!" she shouted. She drew back her fist a third time but he was ready now and caught her arm in mid-air.

"Well I'm not!" he yelled back. They stood almost toe-to-toe for a long tension-filled minute. Finally he loosed his grip slightly but didn't completely let her go. "You gonna hit me again?"

She pursed her lips and jerked out of his hold.

"I was going to call you last night but they gave me this stuff for pain and it knocked me out," he explained, keeping a wary eye on her still balled up fist. "When I came to this morning, you're the first one I-"

"Sent a text message to?" she bit out. "You sent me a text message!"

"Well I couldn't call!" he shrugged. "I didn't know where you were and no one is supposed to know I'm alive." When her furious expression didn't change he sighed. "There's this guy - Stiller - I almost had him eight years ago but he disappeared. He's been seen around here again and the Bureau thinks if he believes I'm dead he might . . ."

Without asking she tugged at the strap of the sling he wore.

"Hey, they told me to wear that to keep that side . . . Okay." He gave up when she simply ignored him and dropped it on the floor. His indrawn breath was a hiss of pain when she poked at the white bandage above his heart. "That kinda hurts, you know . . ." She slipped two fingers beneath a loose spot in the white gauze and ripped it from his skin. "Jesus Christ, Bones, that hurts!" he yelped. "What the hell are you-" He swallowed his words at the look on her face when she saw his wound.

Her fingers lay gently against the skin below the ugly, reddened gash. "You stepped in front of that bullet for me," she whispered.

He watched her carefully. "Well . . . yea," he answered, his voice as low as hers had been. When she finally lifted her eyes to his, his breath froze in his lungs.

"They told me you were dead." Fat drops of pure crystal shimmered between dark lashes, enhancing the bright blue of her irises. "They told me . . ."

"I'm not." He gripped her fingers hard and held them against his chest.

"Cullen said . . ." she swallowed. "They wouldn't let me see you." Her eyes went back to the black stitches that closed the wound. "He said only family . . ." Her voice broke.

Booth squeezed her hand tightly. "Bones." He waited until her lashes raised and she looked at him again. "You are my family," he said, his voice a raspy murmur.

Neither wanted to look away as the minutes ticked by marked only by two heartbeats that stopped, stuttered and began again in unison.

She blinked first, her gaze caught by blood seeping from his injury. "You're bleeding." She backed up a step, pulling her hand from his. "If you have a first aid kit, I'll -"

"Yea." His eyes never left her. "It's in the bathroom, below the sink."

She was back in seconds, pushing him down to the sofa and taking a seat beside him as she replaced the dressing she'd removed so roughly. He noticed her fingers trembling when she smoothed the adhesive down to hold the gauze in place.

"I thought I'd lost you."

Her words were almost inaudible. If he hadn't been paying such careful attention to her, he wouldn't have heard them.

"You can't lose me, Bones."

He heard one sniffle, one whimper she couldn't hold back and pulled her hard against his uninjured shoulder. He murmured something - the words didn't matter - and kissed her forehead. Over the dark hair tickling his chin, he smiled.

.

.

* * *

><p><em>I just realized this erases the beer-hat-in-the-bathtub moment. Nooooooooooooooo! <em>


	13. Small Packages

_AN: Did you know there are five more comment meme links at the Bite-Sized Bones site? Five more! Pages and pages of prompts! What to do, what to do . . ._

_This one is from the first link, way back in April 2009: _tempertemper wrote: Booth/Brennan, a small box_. _

_Well, I know what I keep in a small box . . ._

* * *

><p>.<p>

.

.

"If you can wait five minutes . . ." Brennan didn't look up from the ischium she was painstakingly reassembling.

"No, I can't," Booth insisted. "They're bringing him up from holding in half an hour and I want to have the letter opener when I question him." He watched impatiently, hands on hips, as she ignored him for another minute. "Bones!"

She heaved a put-upon sigh and glared up at him. "Fine. It is in my desk, the top right-hand drawer, I believe." Dismissing him, she gave her attention again to the bone fragments scattered on the table in front of her.

"Thank you," he responded snidely. Muttering beneath his breath he hurried off the platform and up the steps to her office.

At her desk he tapped a finger against the photo of the four of them and smiled then started opening drawers at random. In the top right, just where she'd said it would be, he found the thick yellow evidence envelope. He reached for it, yanking his hand back in surprise when he jarred a small white box which immediately began vibrating.

"What the-" He withdrew it from the drawer carefully and with slow, deliberate movements lifted the flap.

Inside, resting on a folded layer of tissue, was an oblong, smooth plastic object. About three inches long, it was pale pink in color, one end slightly bulbous and studded with tiny raised bumps. He picked it up and examined it curiously as it thrummed almost soundlessly in his hand. Attached to the underside was a flexible silicone loop; eyes narrowed, he slid his index finger through the opening and with his thumb slid the tiny switch on the side to off. Immediately it stopped vibrating.

"Were you able to find the-" Brennan came to an immediate halt just a few steps into her office, her words abruptly cut off. Her eyes shot from his hand to his face.

He looked at the small piece of plastic attached to his finger and then at her. His lips twitched.

Her chin lifted fractionally.

He couldn't hold back the smile that stretched across his face. "I must have hit the box - it started . . . vibrating."

She said nothing, just walked over to the low table in front of the sofa, bending over to shuffle the magazines and newspapers that lay on it.

"Is this a . . ."

She straightened and stood quietly, her hands clasped in front of her. "A clitoral stimulation device. Yes."

"A vibrator."

"Yes," she nodded. When he looked at it again she began speaking in a rush. "That's not a reflection on . . . on you." He quirked a brow at her. "On us, I mean. On our sex life." If he wasn't mistaken, Booth thought, she was babbling. "I'm very happy," she added. "I'm very satisfied with . . . with our . . . our sex life."

He laughed. "I am not threatened by this, Bones." He wiggled his finger at her.

"Of course you aren't," she agreed immediately, her head jerking affirmatively.

His eyes flicked to the window behind her sofa. "Your wall is glass," he pointed out. "So's the door."

He watched in amazement as a warm tide of pink blazed across her cheeks.

Temperance Brennan was blushing.

What had been funny a moment ago became something else entirely as his blood began to simmer.

Her lashes fluttered down to hide her eyes. "There's an . . . office on the third floor." She glanced up quickly. "An interior office. No . . . windows." She cleared her throat. "The door locks," she finished, her voice a husky whisper.

She looked up to see him stalking her. There was no other word for the lazy grace in the long strides that brought him closer to her, his eyes hot as they captured hers. The air in the room felt thick and unbreathable as she scrambled backward, matching him step for step until she felt the wall behind her. Somehow he defied the physical laws that defined space and structure and grew right front of her. His shoulders became broader . . . his chest wider . . . his body larger so that when he bracketed her with a hand on either side of her head she was surrounded by him.

She couldn't look away.

She tried to swallow past a dry throat, expecting any minute for his body to press down on her but instead he held himself so that scant inches separated them. Only his scent touched her, and the heat rolling from him in waves. She melted into the wall.

"B-Booth?"

The small bullet vibrator was still on the index finger of his right hand. Without releasing her eyes, he flicked the switch with his thumb. She jerked, her breath a sharp gasp when it hummed to life.

Angela wandered through the office door flipping through a set of graphs. "Brennan, did you . . ." Her voice trailed off when she glanced up and saw Brennan pinned between Booth's wide, black-suited body and the wall. "Am I interrupting something?" she smirked.

At the first sound of her voice, Booth's thumb was on the switch, his finger bent to hide the small toy beneath his palm. That was his only reaction to Angela's presence.

Both of them ignored her question.

And truthfully, Brennan never heard it.

"I'll take that as a yes," Angela murmured, her expression smug as she slipped quietly out.

Booth leaned an inch closer. "Show me that empty office," he whispered.

Her pupils dilated so that only a faint ring of blue was visible. "Wh...why?" she managed.

He was so close she could feel his breath against her face, his voice so quiet she could barely hear it over the drumbeat of her heart. "Because if you don't, I'm going to lay you down on this floor and fuck you right here."

She stopped breathing. "Okay,' she croaked.

He blinked, one eyebrow lifting fractionally.

"I mean," she swallowed, "I'll show you the office."

Neither of them moved.

"Do . . . do you have time . . ." She lost her train of thought for a moment. "You said . . . wasn't there someone . . ."

The promise of heaven mingled with the wickedness of hell in the smile he bestowed on her. "Oh, this won't take long," he promised. The vibrator buzzed to life again with the touch of his thumb.

She whimpered and sagged deeper into the wall.

"Bones . . ." he murmured roughly.

Her lashes lifted slowly. "My legs won't move."

One corner of his mouth tilted roguishly as he leaned in and spoke in a low hum right beside her ear. "Show me, baby."

He felt her panting breaths against his neck. When she managed to peel herself from the wall he lowered his right arm and allowed her room to slide out from the cage he'd held her in. She didn't notice when she bumped against the coffee table, her eyes only on him following her as she led him out.

.

.

Hodgins looked up from the computer screen as Booth and Brennan walked quickly toward the stairwell.

"I thought Booth left already," he shrugged. Angela looked over her shoulder, and then laughed knowingly. "What?"

"I think that empty office on the third floor is getting some use again," she smiled.

Her husband frowned in confusion. "What? Oh!" His expression cleared. "Oh," he said again, his eyes twinkling. He looked up again in time to see Booth close the stairwell door firmly. "Oh."

"Oh," Angela agreed happily.

.

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><p><em>AN: I would like to point out that this is not smut because nothing happened in this story. Anything that does happen is all in your imagination, dear readers, and since I can read your minds I have to say you should all be ashamed of yourselves! I'm wagging my finger at you! Yes I am! tsk tsk tsk<em>


	14. Line?  What line?

_Written __for __the __Comment __Fic __Meme __dated __Feb__/__March__ 2010. __The __prompt __was __from__ "__spy_____barbie__" : __Booth__/__Brennan__, __first __date__. _

_Let__'__s __set __this __sometime __after _Blackout in the Blizzard _but __before __that __sweet __little __moment __at __the __end __of _The Finder _(__which __was __totally __a __date__, __I __don__'__t __care __what __anyone __says__). _

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><p><em>.<em>

_._

Silence fell between them as he drove her back to the lab. It was a comfortable quiet, one that sat easily in the air around them without either feeling the need to fill it with a rush of words. The noise of the beltway outside the SUV provided a muffled background to their own private thoughts.

He'd just taken a simple glance to his right to look at the traffic through her window when it happened. She was staring in that direction, too, her expression peaceful and contemplative and once his attention was caught by the beauty of her profile, Booth couldn't keep his eyes off her. They were driving west, into the sun, and the bright rays coming in through the windshield picked up fiery sparks of red in her hair. Something inside him, something in the region of his heart, slid into place with a click.

A muscle worked in his jaw as he forcefully directed his attention to the road in front of him. With effort, he concentrated on the cars speeding by as his thoughts spun in a million different directions. _What am I waiting for?_ he asked himself. _Why am I still waiting?_

His hand clenched around the steering wheel. _I__'__m __not__, _he decided right then. _Not __anymore__._

He cleared his throat softly and threw another quick glance in her direction. "So . . . I was thinking . . ." He shrugged nervously, his left hand beating a rapid tattoo on the steering wheel. She looked at him curiously. "Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?"

"Sure," she nodded. "Oh!" She touched his arm lightly. "There's a new Ethiopian restaurant in Alexandria I've been reading about. Maybe we could go there?"

"No," he shook his head at her quick response and smiled self-consciously. "No, Bones, you don't get it . . ."

"You don't like Ethiopian food? All right," she accepted gracefully. "Where would-"

"Bones," he interrupted. He moistened suddenly dry lips as his right hand instinctively smoothed his tie down. "I'm asking you to have dinner with me tonight." He continued to glance from the road back to her.

"I know, Booth, I heard you," she said, confusion knitting her brow. "I said yes. Where would you-"

He held up a hand to silence her, checked his rear-view mirror and switched lanes to take the exit ramp just ahead. Once off the highway, he pulled into the gas station sitting at the end of the lane, threw the car into park and turned to her.

She was peering at him as if he were a mystery to be solved, her eyebrows drawn together in the manner he associated with the way she studied a particularly puzzling piece of evidence. He let out a huff of laughter and captured her gaze with his. "Bones, I'm asking you to have dinner with me. Tonight." He spoke slowly, emphasizing the request.

"I heard you, Booth," she repeated. "I said . . ." Her mouth formed a silent "O" as her eyes grew wide.

A broad smile split his face. "And the light comes on."

"Oh." She pressed her lips together. She considered his words briefly. "You mean . . . have dinner with you . . . as in, a date." She seemed almost afraid to look away from him.

"Yea." His voice was barely above a whisper.

Brennan took a deep breath and released it with an audible, "Oh." Blinking rapidly, she sat back against her seat and stared through the windshield. "Oh."

Booth watched her nervously as the seconds ticked by in silence. Finally, he couldn't stand it. "Bones?" He coughed roughly. "If it's too soon-"

"No!" Her head swiveled toward him immediately. "I mean, it's not too soon," she hurried to clarify. "And . . . and yes, I will have dinner with you tonight." She peeped at him from beneath her lashes, a smile curving her lips. "As a date."

Another minute passed in silence but this time neither of them noticed, captivated as they were by the happy sparkle of a pair of bright blue eyes and the obvious delight shining from a ruggedly handsome face. The blare of a horn from the traffic whipping by on the road behind them was an unwelcome interruption.

"So," he nodded, "I guess I should get you back to the lab."

"Yes," she agreed, but he couldn't stop smiling at her and she couldn't look away from him and the SUV stayed in park until Booth's phone chirped from its place in the console between them.

With obvious reluctance he picked it up and read the message. "Status meeting at 1:30," he told her with a grimace. "So . . ."

"So," she repeated. "I guess you should take me back to the lab."

"Yea." He managed, finally, to tear his eyes from her. Shifting self-consciously in his seat, he resettled his shoulders, put the car in gear and pulled back into traffic.

Silence fell again but this time it wasn't easy or comfortable. It hummed like an exposed electrical wire, crackling with their awareness of each other and vibrating with new energy as the boundaries of their relationship expanded. He snuck glances at her and felt an intensely male surge of satisfaction when he saw her staring through the windshield, smiling at the traffic in front of them. When she chanced a peep in his direction she noted the wide grin he wore and was suddenly fiercely happy.

Inevitably their sneaky attempts to observe the other unnoticed failed. At a red light his eyes slid toward her and he was instantly snared by a gaze of brilliant blue. Her reaction couldn't have surprised him more.

She laughed.

And so did he.

When he rolled to a stop in front of the lab she hesitated as she reached for the handle of the door.

"7:30," he said, before she could speak. "Is that okay? I'll pick you up at 7:30?"

Her chest expanded with the deep breath she took. "Yes," she nodded as she stole more of those quick glances at him. "That is acceptable."

"Good," he smiled. "So . . . I'll see you at your place. At 7:30."

"Fine," she agreed. Once again, a beep from Booth's phone shattered the moment of connection. "I should . . . I should go in now," she murmured. "You have a meeting . . ."

"Yea," he nodded. "I'll see you tonight," he added as she finally opened the door and got out. "Bones!" he called before she could throw it shut.

She leaned over to look into the SUV.

"I'm really looking forward to our date," he told her, his smile devastating in its beauty.

She answered with a smile of her own that had his toes curling in his shoes. "As am I." She closed the door and lifted one hand in a wave as he pulled away from the curb.

.

.

.

.

Angela was lying on the sofa in her office, a pillow propped beneath her knees, when Brennan appeared in her doorway. "Whatever you want," she muttered, "if I have to move, the answer is no."

"I have a date with Booth tonight," Brennan said baldly. Angela's mouth dropped in shock. "He asked me to have dinner with him. Tonight. As a date."

There was one beat of silence before Angela began thrashing wildly, arms flailing, rolling from side to side as she struggled to rise. "Don't just stand there!" she yelled. "Help me up!'

Brennan hurried over and tugged her to a standing position; immediately, Angela grabbed for her bag and began rummaging through it. "Keys, keys," she mumbled. "Where are my - Ugh!" she growled. "I can't drive Jack's little toy car!" She snapped her fingers. "Cam." Grabbing Brennan's hand, she pulled her friend out into the hallway.

Cam was sitting at her desk with an open file in front of her when Angela appeared, dragging Brennan behind her. "Cam! I need your car keys. Now!" She held her hand out, palm up. "Come on, it's an emergency!"

Surprised, Cam leaned back and considered the two of them curiously. "Excuse me? What emergency? Are you in labor? Has something happened?"

"Yes!" Angela exclaimed. "Brennan has a date with Booth tonight!"

Cam's eyes widened dramatically; her head swiveled abruptly to Brennan.

"Booth asked me to have dinner with him tonight," she nodded. "As a date." She looked from one woman to the other and suddenly couldn't stop smiling.

Angela tapped her foot impatiently. "Keys, Cam! I need to see what's in her closet in case we have to go shopping. I mean, look at her!"

Brennan's smile disappeared immediately. She looked down at her jeans and knee high boots. "What's wrong with how I look?"

Cam closed the file on her desk with a snap. "I'll drive."

The three women headed down the stairs as fast as Angela could waddle.

"What time is he picking you up?"  
>"7:30."<br>"7:30! It's almost 1:00 now! That's not enough time!"  
>"Maybe we should skip the closet and just go shopping. I know this charming little boutique . . ."<br>"I can't believe he asked you at the last minute like this!"  
>"I'm sure I already have something suitable . . ."<br>"No, honey. Do you think we have time to get her a spa appointment?"  
>"mmmmm . . . Probably not, unfortunately."<br>"I have a lot of clothes that I rarely get to wear."  
>"That's nice, sweetie. We have to at least get her to a salon so they can do something with her hair."<br>"My hair? What's wrong with my hair?"  
>"I think we should definitely go straight to the boutique."<br>"I have a hand-woven hemp skirt I got in-"

They'd reached the bottom of the steps. Angela immediately whipped around. "Do not mention hemp again," she said firmly, one finger almost touching Brennan's nose. "I will not let you ruin this for me, Brennan!"

"You guys going to lunch?" Hodgins called down from the platform. "Can you bring me back something?"

"We're taking the rest of the afternoon off," Angela told him as she tugged on Brennan's hand. "Get your own lunch."

"Can we take the afternoon off, too?" Wendell asked as they passed by. Cam stopped abruptly.

"No," she answered. "And do not blow anything up!" she ordered.

The two men looked at each other and shrugged. "Well, that wasn't on our to-do list for this afternoon," Hodgins smirked.

Cam ignored him and caught up with Brennan and Angela as they reached the sliding doors.

"What about shoes?"  
>"Oh, gawd, yes, she definitely needs shoes."<br>"I have shoes."  
>"No, honey, you have shoes. You need <em>shoes<em>."  
>"You just repeated the same word in a different tone of voice. I don't know what that means."<br>"I know, sweetie. It's very sad. Are you thinking black?"  
>"Hmm. Well, it's classic for a reason but too predictable. Blue, to bring out her eyes?"<br>"I have a black dress."  
>"Stop talking, Brennan. She's gorgeous in lavender."<br>"Red."  
>"Oh . . . red."<br>"What's wrong with my hair?"

.

.

.

Booth stopped Charlie as the agents excited the conference room after the meeting. "What was the name of that restaurant you mentioned a few weeks ago, the one you took your wife to for her birthday?"

"JoJo's, you mean? On U Street?"

"Yea, that's it," Booth nodded. "Nice place?"

Charlie shrugged. "Andrea likes it. Food's good, won't break the bank. And they have music. But not loud," he added. "You can talk without yelling." He grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. "Got a hot date?"

Booth's answering smile was a bit self-conscious. "I'm taking Bones out tonight."

"Oh, cool." Charlie did a quick double-take. "Wait . . . Dr. Brennan? Like, a date? You're taking Dr. Brennan on a date?"

"Yea," he nodded, still smiling sheepishly.

"Well." Charlie patted him on the shoulder and grinned knowingly. "It's about time."

.

.

.

"Why are you still here?" Caroline's strident tone preceded her as she walked uninvited into Booth's office. "Shouldn't you be home getting all prettied up for your big date?"

He looked up from his computer with a scowl. "You, too?"

"Me, too, what?" she asked acerbically just as a tap on his door frame came from behind her.

Booth looked over with a sigh. "Tucker."

The other agent raised a fist above his head. "Good luck!" With a grin, he disappeared.

Eyes closed, Booth rubbed the bridge of his nose. "That," he said irritably. "It's been happening all afternoon. Why is everyone so interested in-"

"Agent Booth?" Shaw coughed lightly before entering the room at the head of a small delegation of female agents. She carried a large flat golden box tied with a deep brown bow. "We wanted to give you this," she offered, "for your date tonight with Dr. Brennan." She stepped forward somewhat tentatively and placed the box on the desk in front of him. "They're Godiva - we all contributed . . ." The other agents were nodding and smiling behind her. "Women like chocolate."

"And flowers," a brunette at the back spoke up. "Don't forget flowers."

Booth avoided Caroline's smirking gaze. "Thanks," he managed. He waited until they'd filed out looking very pleased with themselves before he dropped his head in his hands. "All afternoon, Caroline. That's been happening all afternoon."

She crooked an eyebrow. "Well what did you expect, cher? We've been watching you two make goo goo eyes at each other for six years. We need our moment, too." She looked him over carefully. "You're going to shave all that, right?" She brushed at her own cheeks.

"Caroline-"

"Not that you don't look all sexy and dangerous with all that scruff going on," she waved casually, "but this is a date, not a day at the office." She pointed at his chin. "You've got to have those cheeks as smooth as a baby's butt tonight!"

Booth rolled his eyes. "For crying out-"

"Your hair's getting a little long," she muttered as she examined him carefully. "But it's too late to get it cut now." She crossed her arms over her ample chest. "That'll just look like you're trying too hard."

"What's wrong with my hair?" he demanded.

"What are you going to wear?" She ignored his petulance.

"Clothes!"

"Hmm." She pursed her lips as her eyes skimmed his torso. "Don't wear a tie. She sees you in a tie every day."

"I think I can dress myself-'

"And don't let me see you in khakis again," she ordered. "You looked like you were pledging for Sigma Nu."

"Are you finished?"

"Blue," she decided, nodding. "You look good in blue. Wear a blue shirt."

"Out." His hand shot toward the door. "Right now."

She hoisted herself up from the chair and threw her hands up. "I'm going. You know, you could show a little appreciation," she told him as she headed toward the door. "I'm not even mad that you didn't wait till next week."

"What's next week?" he asked before he could stop himself.

She shrugged. "I had next Thursday in the betting pool. You just lost me $250."

His jaw dropped. "There's a pool about me and Bones?"

She let out a bark of laughter. "And here I thought some of that genius might have rubbed off on you." Still chuckling, she disappeared down the hallway.

.

.

.

Brennan reacted with a nervous start when she heard his knock a few minutes before 7:30. Taking a deep breath, she ignored the trembling in her hands as she smoothed the new dress over her hips and reached for the door.

For a few seconds, they both forgot to breathe.

"Hi," she said finally.

"Hi," he grinned. Another minute passed before he remembered he was standing in the hallway and gestured inward. "Can I . . ."

"Yes!" she said immediately, stepping back so he could enter. "Are those for me?" she asked, looking at the flowers and chocolates he held.

"Uh . . ." He seemed to be surprised that he was holding anything. "Yea," he nodded. "Yes." He held out the chocolate. "Shaw and some of the other women, they- they gave me the candy for you."

Her brow furrowed as she took the gold box from him. "Why did your coworkers want to give me chocolate?"

"Oh, no, it's supposed to be from me," he explained. "They gave it to me to give to you from me. It's supposed to . . ." He shook his head, shrugged and chuckled. "I don't know. I was hoping you would."

"Oh. Are the flowers also from the women with whom you work?" She eyed them somewhat suspiciously.

"No, I bought these," he told her, but he couldn't help the grin that stretched his lips. "They told me I had to. Several times."

"I suppose you should tell them thank you for me." This time it was she who laughed. "I'll get a vase."

He followed her into the kitchen, his eyes gleaming in appreciation when he saw the smooth skin of her back revealed by the cut of the red dress she wore. He waited until she had fussed with the flowers to her satisfaction and then reached for her hand.

"You look beautiful, Bones." His thumb rubbed across her knuckles as his eyes skimmed the neckline that draped gracefully across her collarbones. "Beautiful," he repeated, taking in the sparkle in her eyes and the light shimmering in her hair.

Her free hand fluttered self-consciously to her shoulder. "Thank you. Angela and Cam took me shopping. They insisted I had nothing suitable." She frowned at the memory. "They were very annoying."

He laughed at her expression. "Well, you can tell them thank you for me."

"You also look very nice," she told him. She hesitated a moment and then added, "I've always liked that shade of blue on you."

"Caroline told me to wear it," he admitted with a grin.

She smiled in return. "They all seem very invested in our date, don't they? Angela and Cam, the women you work with."

"And Caroline," he pointed out again. "She insisted I shave." He arched his neck and touched a spot beneath his jaw. "I nicked myself."

Before she knew it, she'd reached up and covered his hand with hers, one finger tracing the tiny cut on his skin. His eyes smoldered as their gazes locked, then his hand slipped free of hers and wrapped around her jaw as his fingers slid into the dark silk of her hair.

"I'm just . . ." His head dipped toward her. " . . . going to do this . . ." She could feel the whisper of his breath. " . . . now." His lips covered hers. For the first time since that painful, desperate kiss on the night that started the spiral that might have separated them forever, he kissed her. She met him willingly, her lips parting beneath his as their breaths mingled in the sweetness of a moment that felt like a promise. It lasted only seconds, that first kiss, but when he lifted his head he stayed close enough to steal several more before he finally stepped back.

When her lashes finally fluttered open he was still watching her and neither of them had to speak to know that everything had just changed.

Finally he took a deep breath and held out an elbow toward her. "Ready? We don't want to disappoint everybody, do we?"

She gathered the scattered remnants of her composure and nodded. "No, we don't," she said, and tucked her hand through his arm.

At the door he paused. "Bones," he whispered, "I think the restaurant requires shoes."

"Oh!" Startled she looked down at her bare feet. "I have shoes!" She hurried down the hallway to her bedroom, returning in seconds appropriately if somewhat precariously shod. "Angela and Cam made me buy these, too," she told him as she locked the door behind them. "I hope we can park close to the restaurant because they are very uncomfortable."

.

.

.

They were used to sharing meals together. Random phone calls with one inviting the other to a drink or a meal were commonplace occurrences. What they were not used to was referring to those events as _dates_ and although neither would admit it, both had been equally concerned about what effect, if any, the change in label might have on their behavior.

But that was before he kissed her and now . . . now, everything was different.

Because she kissed him back.

Sweets had warned them that a kiss would burst the dam they'd built between them but he was only half right.

It wasn't just a kiss.

It was the right kiss.

At the right time.

And it changed everything.

To a stranger watching, perhaps, their night out looked the same. He poked fun at her awkward attempts at humor. She answered simple questions with long-winded verbose replies. He shared the latest news about Parker. She told him about a planned visit to her brother.

But just beneath the surface, the memory of that kiss - and her response - simmered. When he found himself thinking about how pretty she was, he told her. Instead of touching his hand briefly to make a point she let her fingers rest on his, and then they were holding hands across the table.

In the elevator up to her apartment at the end of the night, they were both thinking about that kiss.

She unlocked her door and turned in the opening. "I very much enjoyed our date, Booth," she told him. "Very much."

"Me, too," he smiled. The air in the hallway thickened with anticipation.

She held his gaze. "Are you going to kiss me goodnight? Because it's traditional," she added. "At the end of a date . . . for the couple who have been on the date to . . . to kiss goodnight."

His smile grew. "I am a traditional guy," he agreed as he stepped closer and bent his head to accept the invitation in her up-tilted face.

If the first kiss had been full of the sweetness and promise of new beginnings, this one was deeper, rich with the sultry hint of nights to come when the door would close behind them and not between them. He wrapped her tightly against him, his hands spread over the softness of her exposed back, raising goosebumps on her flesh when his fingers slid beneath the fabric at her waist. She murmured against his lips, the sound lost in their embrace, and when he finally set her away from him they were both heavy lidded and breathing with difficulty.

He stole one more kiss and stepped back. "Goodnight, Bones."

She took a deep breath and leaned against the door frame. "Goodnight, Booth."

Still looking at her, he walked backwards for several feet down the hallway until he finally turned away.

"Booth!" She called his name just before he reached the elevator. He pivoted back to her immediately. She tried to shrug casually. "Will there . . . . will there be a - a second date?"

Almost before she knew he'd moved, he was back, his hard body pressing hers into the wall beside her door as he stole what little breath she had left with a kiss so hot she expected to see scorch marks beneath her shoes. He raised his mouth from hers only to scrape his teeth along her neck.

"Yes," he growled. He kissed her again, hard and rough, then pushed himself away and was gone before she could open her eyes.

"That's - that's good to know," she said to herself when she could speak again. She held onto the wall until she heard the faint ping of the elevator arriving and then stumbled inside her apartment. She leaned against the closed door, eyes closed and smiled.

.

Downstairs, the elevator doors opened with a beep. Booth exited, tossing his keys in the air and whistling a happy tune.

.

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><p>.<p>

_apropos of nothing, I love men who growl. That is all. _

_(Thanks for reading!)  
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	15. Senior Trip

_**~ . ~ . ~**_

_**Content moved to Roots & Wings, Chapter 28.**_

_**_**~ . ~ . ~**_**_


	16. The Pop in the Question

_Another prompt from the Comment Fic Meme dated Feb/March 2010. _

"drphungus" wrote: Booth/Brennan: Washingtonian magazine profiles Booth as one of D.C.'s most eligible singles; reporter interviews Brennan for her thoughts on him as a partner and inspiration for Andy.

_I went off-prompt a bit, because I couldn't resist having a little fun. Enjoy!_

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Booth laughed and shook his head. "I'm really flattered," he said to the carefully maintained woman sitting in front of him. "But I don't think that's-"

"The results the FBI lab sent over are incorrect, Booth," Brennan burst into his office already agitated. "This is exactly why-" She finally noticed the other woman in the room and abruptly stopped talking. "I apologize," she offered immediately and clutched the file she held to her chest. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

"Bones!" Booth stood quickly, smoothing his tie down in his usual somewhat nervous gesture. "No, it's okay. This is, uh, Stacy Lindsay. She's from _The __Washingtonian__._ Ms. Lindsay, this is my partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan."

The woman grimaced as she rose and offered the hand not holding a notebook. "It's Lindsay Stacey, actually," she said through a smile that showed every tooth. She waved off Booth's automatic apology. "It happens all the time. You're Agent Booth's partner?" she asked, the limp handshake over.

Brennan looked curiously at Booth who was keeping a wary eye on both women. "Yes, I am. But I can wait until your meeting is-"

"Oh, no!" Lindsay trilled. "Don't be silly! You're just the person I need to speak to." She settled down in her seat again and leaned forward conspiratorially as Brennan perched on the edge of Booth's desk. "For all of the inside scoop, you know."

"No, I don't know," Brennan responded as she drew back slightly.

"I'm not sure this is-" Booth began.

Lindsay's well-practiced laugh tinkled through the room. "Well, let me get you caught up." She gestured to Booth, who had seated himself again with one hand covering his eyes as he rubbed at his temples. "Agent Booth has been chosen to appear in our annual "Sexiest Bachelors of Washington, D.C." issue. I'm here to find out a little more about him and schedule the photo shoot."

Brennan's head swiveled slowly toward him. Booth immediately threw his hands up. "Don't look at me! I didn't-"

"Well, of course not!" Lindsay laughed again. "We have a nominating process. Agent Booth's name has actually been put forward several times in the past. This is just his lucky year!" She smiled happily at him.

"See, Bones?" he shrugged at Brennan and attempted an awkward smile. "It's just my lucky year."

Brennan lifted one eyebrow in response before she turned to Lindsay. "I'm sorry, Ms. Stacey," Brennan told her dispassionately, "but you have been misinformed. Booth is not eligible for the . . . honor of appearing in that edition of your magazine."

"What?" Lindsay began thumbing through pages in her notebook. "Did you get married recently?" she asked him. "I don't show anything-"

"Well, no," Booth began. "We're not married but we live-"

"Booth and I are partners in our personal life as well," Brennan cut in rudely. "We share a home."

"Oh!" Lindsay looked from one to the other and then laughed. "That doesn't matter," she said with a wave of her hand. "Most of our bachelors have girlfriends or fiancees. That actually makes them more attractive to our audience, believe it or not," she giggled. "You can tell me what he's like at home!"

"He drops his socks beside the hamper instead of inside it," Brennan told her. "Is that what you mean?"

Lindsay began to scribble. "Yes, exactly. Women love details like that. They give him a human touch."

"He also leaves toothpaste in the sink. Is that a humanizing feature, as well?" Brennan's snide tone was lost on the reporter.

"Hey!" Booth interrupted.

"Oh, yes," Lindsay nodded as she continued to write. "Women will fall in love with him."

"We have a child!" Brennan bit out, glaring at the clueless woman.

Lindsay's head lifted instantly, her eyes narrowed craftily. "Boy or girl?"

"A daughter," Brennan answered shortly.

"How old is she?" Lindsay nibbled the end of her pen.

Booth and Brennan looked at each other in confusion. "She's nine months old," Booth said.

"That's perfect!" Lindsay clapped her hands together happily before spreading them in a gesture that encompassed her unwilling audience. "This year, we're also going to be selling a calendar, with the proceeds going to SOME, here in D.C." She sat back and considered Booth thoughtfully. "You," she murmured, nodding. "Shirtless, with your baby girl held against your chest. Women will eat it up!" she enthused, then raised her eyebrows. "You might even make the centerfold."

"Woah! What?"  
>"I beg your pardon?"<p>

Lindsay laughed happily at their reaction. "Not that kind of centerfold, you sillies," she scoffed as she smiled brightly. "As an extra bonus, we thought we could include our favorite photo in a larger size, as a poster of sorts." She pointed at Booth delicately. "You could be hanging up on walls over the District!" she told him in a sing-song voice.

"We're going to be married," Brennan blurted out.

Booth's head shot toward her. She refused to meet his eyes.

"Oh." Nonplussed, Lindsay blinked in surprise before she recovered. "Well, as I said, many of our bachelors have girlfriends and fiancees so-"

"When will this issue be published?" Brennan demanded.

"In December," Lindsay answered, "That way we can get Christmas sales for the calendar-"

"We're getting married in November," Brennan said quickly. "Which means your magazine and the - the calendar," she added, as if she'd tasted something sour, "will be outdated before it's even published." She crossed her arms over her chest and stared stonily at Lindsay. "You will need to find someone else."

Lindsay opened her mouth to argue further, noticed the heat behind Brennan's eyes and the smug smile on Booth's face as he leaned back in his chair and decided to cut her losses.

"Well," she sighed as she reached down for the large bag at her feet. "I think you're right, Dr. Brennan. We do want to be current, of course." She stood and offered her hand to each of them for another spongy handshake. "My congratulations and best wishes," she added with a bright, false smile before she hurried away.

Now standing behind his desk, Booth waited for Brennan to say something.

A full minute passed in silence.

He glanced at her profile and barely restrained the laughter that threatened at her frustrated, pursed lipped expression.

He cleared his throat loudly. "Well," he said, rocking back and forth on his feet. "It wasn't quite the proposal I was hoping for but . . ."

"Oh!" She did turn to him then, her frustration escaping loudly. She slapped the folder she still held on his desk with a snap and then marched out of his office.

His laughter rang through the office as he hurried around the desk to follow her. He stopped in his doorway and ignored the heads popping up curiously from the cubicles in the center of the floor. "Bones!" he yelled before she could reach the elevators. When she simply turned her head to look over her shoulder at him, he cupped one hand beside his mouth to make sure he could be heard. "I accept!" he called out.

Hair flying, she spun away again. His smile so broad it almost hurt, Booth watched her jab at the elevator button hard enough to push it through the wall and tossed his poker chip high in the air. When the doors closed on her, he went back into his office, still laughing.

.

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><p><em>I didn't say these little daily things wouldn't be silly, did I? No, I didn't. Embrace the silly!<em>

_Thanks for reading!  
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	17. Sparring Partners

_This prompt came from the "Anonymous Kink Meme" from June, 2009. To be honest, I almost skipped those prompts altogether because that's not the kind of stuff I write. Then I realized, duh, no one said I couldn't take a prompt and do whatever the hell I wanted with it so I took a peek (and then had to scrub my eyes out because some of them . . . really?). Anyway, I did find a few I thought I could have fun with and since this week is all about having fun, why not write one now?_

_This prompt was from "Anonymous:" Booth & Brennan working out together. _

_I hope you enjoy it. :-)_

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Booth had just settled onto the sofa with a beer in one hand, the remote control in the other and a bowl of popcorn beside him when Brennan passed through his line of vision on her way from the stairs to the kitchen. His attention was caught immediately when she bent over to reach inside the fridge for a bottle of water.

"Um . . ." He lost his train of thought for a moment as his eyes slid over the form-fitting black shorts and white tank top she wore. He cleared his throat roughly. "What're you doing?"

She turned toward him, tucked the bottle of water between her knees and lifted her arms to gather her hair into a messy ponytail. "The children are napping so I thought I'd use the free time to get a workout in with the bag."

"Oh. Is . . . is that my t-shirt?" he asked, more to cover up the fact that he'd been staring at the movement of her breasts as she fixed her hair than because he really cared what the hell she was wearing.

She paused in the act of transferring the elastic band from her wrist to her ponytail, both elbows bent behind her head, and glanced down at her front. "I suppose so. Is that a problem?"

_Yes__, __take __it __off __now_, he thought. "No," he shook his head vigorously. "No. Uh . . . You . . . you need some help?" he asked in an obvious attempt to sound casual. "With your workout, I mean?"

She popped the band into place and dropped her hands to her hips. "My workouts are not foreplay, Booth."

"I'm just offering," he grinned, the wicked glint in his eyes completely ruining the innocent picture he tried to present with his hands spread wide. "I'm hurt that you would think I had an ulterior motive, Bones!"

"Mmm hmmm," she nodded in patent disbelief. "Didn't you say this was the game of the year or something?" she asked, waving her water bottle toward the television. "I believe your exact words were "Don't talk to me for three hours!"

"What? That?" Booth pointed the remote toward the TV and clicked it off. "Nah, that's nothing." He shook his head. "Steelers vs. Ravens . . . No big deal." He tossed the remote to the sofa and stood up. "I've got time to help you. Since the kids are asleep and all." He tried and failed to look sincere.

"Okay, fine," she conceded, not fooled at all. "But you need to change," she said, indicating his jeans. "I'll get warmed up while I wait." She started down the hallway to the garage and didn't allow herself to smile until she heard his quick steps head upstairs.

She had just begun her second series of stretches when he walked into the garage, now clad in a white tank top exactly like the one she wore and a loose, slick pair of black, nylon shorts. His skin sizzled as her eyes traveled over him quickly.

"Oh, look," she said dryly as she leaned into another stretch. "We match."

He looked down at himself and laughed. "That was an accident," he chuckled. "I just grabbed the first pair of shorts I saw."

Her response was a lift of one eyebrow before she bent at the waist and put her hands flat on the floor between her feet. Frozen in place, Booth just stared silently as she twisted and contorted her lithe body into one position after another until her voice broke into his concentrated fascination.

"Are you not going to warm up?" she asked, panting slightly as she brushed a few strands of damp hair from her cheek.

"What?" He blinked. "Huh? Oh! No," he shook his head and put the bottle of water he'd forgotten he held on the floor. "I'm just here to help, remember?" he smiled. "I'm just the target."

Brennan looked at him from the corner of her eye as she turned to the shelves holding her equipment. "If you say so," she murmured as she tugged the padded knuckles of her hand wraps into place. When she faced him again she couldn't stop her eyes from sliding down his chest to the front of his shorts.

She met his eyes pointedly.

He laughed, utterly at ease with her knowing the effect she had on him. "Stop undressing me with your eyes, Bones. It's rude. This is not foreplay, remember?"

She only just managed to hold back her own smile. "You're incorrigible," she told him as they took their places on opposite sides of the heavy red bag hanging in the corner. "Ready?"

"You couldn't tell?" he teased as he gripped the bag.

She did laugh then, right before she lashed out at the bag.

_Thunk__!_

"That was good," Booth's head poked out from the side. "I almost felt it," he added sarcastically.

She frowned, stepped back and punched at the bag again, twice in quick succession.

"Really? That's all you got?"

Brennan bent at the waist and kicked out, enjoying a moment of satisfaction when he took a step back as the weight of the bag swung toward him.

"I guess that's a little better," he grinned unrepentantly.

For the next few minutes he teased and goaded her into punching and kicking harder and harder while he hung on to the back of the bag, his head popping out periodically with an insult about her skill or speed. He was just beginning to perspire when she backed off, breathing heavily, her sports bra visible beneath the now sweat dampened t-shirt.

"Is that it?" he asked. "You're done already?"

She took a long swig of water, sat it down hard and picked up a pair of Thai pads from the shelves.

"Suit up," she snarled as she threw them at him.

Booth caught them deftly as he stepped out from behind the bag into the open space. Tucking them both under one arm he bent down for his own bottle of water and drank half of it before setting it back on the floor.

"Oh, you wanna play with the big boys now." He grinned as he baited her, thoroughly enjoying the storm he could see brewing behind her eyes. He slid his hands into the straps and slapped the pads together. "Let's do it."

She didn't move. "Aren't you going to put on headgear?"

"Nah," he shook his head and clapped the pads again. "I got this."

"The last time you didn't _got __this_," Brennan pointed out. "And I kicked you in the head." She eyed him triumphantly. "Your reflexes are slow."

He just grinned. "You like me slow," he murmured suggestively.

"Not when you lose a filling," she shot back.

Now he was annoyed. "My reflexes aren't slow," he argued. "You distracted me - keep your shirt on and I'll be fine."

Brennan immediately pulled the sweat-soaked t-shirt over her head and tossed it aside. His attention focused at once on the snug white undergarment she wore, which was obviously not made for a woman currently nursing her second child. Shadowed and damp under her arms and at her cleavage, it compressed and lifted her full breasts until they pushed out high on her chest in firm, enticing mounds. When he managed to pull his eyes away from her body, she was smirking.

And he was even more determined to come out the winner in this little game. "Oh, we're playing it that way?" he sneered. At once, he lifted his arms, removed his own t-shirt and sent it sailing to join hers. When her eyes turned smokey, it was his turn to smirk. "Gimme the damn headgear."

She pivoted with an audible sniff, grabbed the padded helmet and threw it at him. Not taking his eyes off of her, he pulled and tugged until the foam sections were settled in place around his head and ears and snapped the chin strap in place. Sliding his hands once more beneath the elastic bands of the Thai pads, he smacked them together loudly and waved them at her.

"Whatcha got for me, baby?"

She advanced on him immediately, swinging with all her strength at the pads he held. He met every punch she threw and fed the fire as the air in the garage began to heat.

_Thunk!_

"Just like that, baby."

_Pop! Pop!_

"Come on, I want it hard, Bones."

_Spin_.

_Kick._

"Oh, yea . . . like that."

_Thunk!_

"That all you got?"

_Thwap._

"Come on, baby, you gotta want it . . ."

_Thud._

"Harder, Bones. Harder."

"Give it to me, baby."

Their eyes met between punches and he knew she'd picked up on his deliberately suggestive encouragement. She was flushed and warm, her hair soaked, sweat flying from her ponytail when she spun and sliding in glittering trails down her neck and between her cleavage and just watching her, he was erect and aroused to the point of pain.

_Spin._

_Kick._

_Kick._

"Oh, yea, that was good . . ."

"You tell me that frequently," she gasped, managing between punches to meet his eyes with a knowing smile.

He raised a pad to meet the foot she kicked out. "Must be when you start believing in God," he grinned.

_Thud._

"What? You know I'm an atheist," she panted.

_Pop._

"I don't know - you're always calling me God."

She laughed as she threw a cross punch. "That has nothing to do with religion, Booth."

"Baby, making love with you is a religious experience," he shot back immediately.

When she launched herself, he knew it had nothing to do with the pads he held. The sweat-slicked skin of their torsos clung as their lips met in a hard, rough kiss that left them both panting and breathless even as neither one wanted to end it. Behind his head, Brennan struggled to remove her hand wraps; around her back, Booth tugged off the Thai pads and let them fall to the concrete floor and then two sets of hands were free to wander at will.

Brennan pulled back first, tugging at the padded helmet he wore and ignoring his suggestive whispers about pulling on his ears until she could toss it aside. By then, Booth had her sports bra above her head and tangled around her elbows. She laughed as she flung it somewhere over her shoulder.

"I thought you said this wasn't foreplay," Booth whispered raggedly as she locked her legs around his waist, her weight supported in the hands he held beneath her ass.

"Shut up, Booth," she said, and then made sure he'd follow directions by kissing him again.

A few minutes later she gasped loudly. He wasn't sure whether it was because she'd bumped her head on the wall he'd just pinned her to or if it was because of what his busy fingers were doing beneath the hem of her shorts.

He made a note to apologize later, in case it was the bump on the head.

If he remembered.

A few minutes later his shorts were at his feet and hers were dangling from one ankle and he knew he'd have a bruise on his lower back from her heels digging hard for purchase into his skin.

"Perhaps you're . . . . Oh, God! . . . . right and we should . . . Booth! . . . put a cot out . . . heeeeeeeerrrrrrre!"

"Cot?" He licked a salty trail of perspiration from below her ear to her shoulder and then fastened his teeth on the spot. "We don't need no stinkin' cot," he growled, and began to move.

He made a note to explain the reference later.

If he remembered.

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><p><em>I think this can be filed under "the benefits of owning a home gym." Funny - they never mention <em>that_ in those Chuck Norris infomercials! __  
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_Thanks for reading! Are we having fun yet?  
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	18. To Heal a Broken Heart

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_**Content moved to Roots & Wings, Chapter 29.**_

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	19. Lay 'Em on the Table

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_**Content moved to Roots & Wings, Chapter 30.**_

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	20. Two Minute Warning

_Alanna asked me for a follow-up to _Penalty Box,_ which is Chapter 14 in my collection called _160 Characters or Less._ (link: s/7436503/14/160_characters_or_less) If you haven't read it, you should probably give it a look/see before starting this, so you'll know what's going on.  
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_Alanna, chickie, I hope this is what you had in mind. :-)  
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_Enjoy!  
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Brennan was on her way downstairs when she heard the door between the house and the garage open. Parker passed by below, smiling when he looked up and noticed her. "Hey, Temperance!"

"Hello, Parker," she answered fondly as she reached the bottom step. "Did you enjoy the game?"

"We lost," he shrugged, slurping the last sips of his drive-thru soda noisily. In the kitchen, he opened the cabinet which held the trashcan and tossed the cup inside. "But there were three fights and one guy lost a tooth!"

"And that's good?" Brennan asked, her expression confused.

"Well," Parker laughed, "it makes losing more fun. Can I play X-box for a few minutes?" he tossed over his shoulder as he headed toward the living room.

"I have no objection," she responded. "Where is your father?"

Parker shrugged. "No idea," he answered, just before the opening theme of a video game began to play loudly.

Brennan winced at the volume then ignored it as she headed toward the garage. Peeking in, she saw Booth leaning into the backseat of his sports car.

"What are you doing, Booth?"

"I'm looking for the bunny!" Even muffled by the interior of the car the irritation in his voice was clearly audible.

"Oh, that's not necessary," she descended the two steps from the house. "I found it."

The sound of his head bumping hard against the door frame was followed immediately by loud cursing. He backed out of the car, rubbing a hand across his scalp as he stared angrily at her.

"You found it."

"Yes," she nodded. "After our exchange, I phoned Dad and he told me he'd left it in her diaper bag."

He slammed the door shut and fisted both hands on his hips. "So the bunny was here?"

"Yes," she said, adding a frown for good measure. "Isn't that what I just said?"

"The bunny was here," he said again and began to advance on her slowly.

"Yes," she repeated, standing her ground as he invaded her space. "I found it just where Dad said it would be."

"The bunny was here."

"Booth-"

He held up one finger. "Uh!" he silenced her with a grunt. "The bunny was here," he growled. "When you started texting me with TWO MINUTES left in the game, the bunny was here!"

"Well obviously I didn't know that at the time, Booth," Brennan spoke slowly, as if explaining something to a child. "I thought you might have it."

"Two minutes, Bones!" he groused, his face barely inches from hers as they stood toe to toe. "Two minutes! I missed the last two minutes of the game because you were texting me - and they lost!"

"Would they have won if you'd been watching?" Brennan asked seriously. She didn't retreat not even a fraction of an inch.

A muscle worked in his jaw. "That's not the point," he ground out, holding her gaze.

"Why didn't you just wait for the game to end before you responded to me?" she pointed out in an annoyingly obvious tone.

He opened his mouth to reply and then snapped it shut. "Because," he mumbled after a few seconds of silence, "it was you."

"Oh." She thought about his words for a minute and then her eyes brightened as she smiled. "Thank you, Booth."

He caught himself beginning to respond to the happiness that sparkled in her face and backed up a half-step. "No!" He glared at her. "No. I am mad at you, Bones. You are not going to distract me!"

"I wasn't trying to-"

"Two minutes!" He leaned forward slightly at the waist, keeping that small distance between them but waving his finger at her again. "Two minutes! I missed the last two minutes of the game and the damn bunny was here the whole time!"

"Is this a ploy to have makeup sex with me?" Brennan asked suddenly.

"If you'd just checked fir- What?" His train of thought was completely derailed.

She folded her arms and looked at him suspiciously. "Angela says that she and Dr. Hodgins will sometimes deliberately allow something inconsequential to develop into an argument for the sole purpose of engaging in makeup sex afterward." She lifted an eyebrow. "Is that what you're doing?"

"No!" Booth shook his head immediately. "No! I . . . you . . . Two minutes! You-"

"So, you don't want to have makeup sex with me?" Brennan's brow furrowed in confusion.

"I didn't . . . this is not . . ." He paused abruptly. "Do you want to have makeup sex?"

She contemplated him thoughtfully. "Is there really something special about it?"

"Oh, yea," Booth grinned devilishly, his eyes twinkling suggestively. "It's totally hot."

"Hmm." Her lips pursed, Brennan considered his words for a short moment and then nodded. "Well, then, yes, I would like to have makeup sex with you. Not at this moment, of course," she added quickly. "But later tonight, after Parker is in bed as well."

"Of course," Booth agreed with a quick shrug. "Later tonight."

The two of them smiled happily at each other for another minute before Brennan turned to go back into the house.

"Oh, and Booth?" She paused at the door. "The next time I text you at an inconvenient time, just don't answer right away."

His smile fell away at once. With a growl, he picked up a nearby chamois cloth and threw it at the door closing behind her.

"Two minutes!" he yelled again. "Two minutes!"

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><p><em>Oh, the joys of makeup sex. If I were Booth or Brennan, I'd start arguments all the time!<br>_

_Thanks for reading!  
><em>


	21. Family Traditions

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_**Content moved to Roots & Wings, Chapter 31.**_

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	22. No More Lines

_AN: A short follow-up to "_Line? What Line?"_ which you'll find as Chapter 14 here. Enjoy!_

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Angela still wore her jacket when she appeared in Brennan's doorway the next morning. She didn't even stop to drop her bag in her own office.

"Well?" she asked, practically bouncing on her feet. "How was it?"

"How was what?" Brennan looked up from the report she'd been trying to read for the past 20 minutes. For a reason she wasn't willing to look too closely at, she couldn't make it beyond the first paragraph.

"Oh, no no no," Angela scoffed. "Don't even try that with me, Brennan." She aimed her purse at the sofa, heard it fall to the floor instead and ignored it. "Details. Now. Start at the beginning. I'll tell you when you can stop." She turned a chair so it faced her friend's desk and leveraged her bulk into it awkwardly. "Go."

Brennan turned back to the report. "It was just a date, Angela," she responded without meeting her friend's eyes. "I don't know why you're so-"

"Oh," Angela heaved an exaggerated sigh of disappointment. "That bad, huh?"

"What? No!" Brennan looked up in alarm only to find Angela's twinkling gaze laughing at her. "All right," she gave in with ill grace. "It went very well. We had a very nice evening."

"You had a nice evening," Angela repeated dryly as she crossed her arms over her chest. "I will come over there and sit on you, Brennan. Don't think I won't." She arched a brow coyly. "Did he kiss you?"

"Angela . . ." Brennan's cheeks went pink.

"He did!" Angela crowed. "He did! So how was it?" she asked, her grin wide. "Was there tongue?"

Brennan pursed her lips and turned away. "It's not like we haven't kissed before, Ange."

She waved that away impatiently. "Those don't count. This was a _date _kiss, they're different. Did he spend the night?" She leaned forward expectantly.

"Angela! No!" Brennan responded immediately, although there was more than a hint of regret in her voice. "It was only our first real date, you know."

Disgruntled, Angela sat back with a huff and tapped her fingers on the arm of the chair. "You've known each other for seven years, Brennan. It's not like you have to follow the three-date rule."

"What's the-"

Cam peeped into the office with a brisk knock on the frame of the door. "Well?" she asked with a smile. "Am I too late for the scoop from last night?"

"They kissed!" Angela chirped.

"Excuse me!" Brennan closed the report with a snap and stood up. "Don't we have work to do?" She pulled her lab coat off the tree and shrugged into it. "I believe there are remains downstairs so if anyone needs me for something _work-related_, that's where I'll be." She swept out of her office, chin raised in visible annoyance.

Cam looked at Angela, her brows raised in a silent question.

"He didn't spend the night," Angela shrugged and held out a hand to be helped out of the chair.

"Ahhh." Cam pulled her to her feet and nodded. "Got it."

"But I still want to know more about that kiss," Angela said, her voice determined as she hurried to catch up with Brennan.

"Don't start without me!" Cam was at her heels.

Angela found Brennan before she made it to the platform. "Not so fast, sweetie!" She tugged at her elbow. "Dead guys can wait. First date stories can't."

"I'm not going to indulge your-"

"Oh my God." Cam's quiet exclamation stopped Brennan's flow of words immediately. For a split second she was transported back in time, to a crowded airport and a man in military camouflage and newly shorn hair whose face reflected the same fear and pain that marred her own expression. She spun around, instantly wary.

Hearts didn't really stop beating - as a scientist she knew that, but when she saw him enter the lab she sincerely believed hers had. He loped toward her with easy grace, tall and impossibly handsome, his grey suit sharp, the white shirt and brightly patterned tie crisp, his hair still slightly damp as if he'd been in too much of a hurry to wait for it to dry completely. His gaze held hers with growing intensity and in an instant, the rest of the busy lab disappeared.

And then he smiled.

Her heart began beating again with a heavy thud.

"Booth," she whispered, and one step became two.

They stopped with barely the space of a breath between them.

"I thought . . ." She lost her train of thought as his eyes warmed on hers. "I thought you were going to call later."

"I was," he replied, his husky voice sliding like velvet over the raw nerves beneath her skin. "But I . . . I wanted to see you."

"Oh." The next few seconds stretched out into infinity as they simply stood there and looked at each other.

He reached for her hand with a casual shrug. "You want to get some breakfast?"

"Yes," she answered immediately and allowed her fingers to tighten around his.

Hands linked, they walked out of the lab. His head dipped as he murmured something that caused her to look down at her lab coat with a laugh. When the doors slid open, he released her hand only long enough to place his on the small of her back as he directed her in front of him. As they closed, his hand trailed down her arm until their fingers were linked again. Within seconds, they were gone from view.

"So." Hodgins appeared at Angela's shoulder. "That's what it feels like to be invisible."

Angela slapped at his arm. "Shut up. And why don't you ever look at me like that!" she demanded, her eyes misty with delight for her best friend even as she laughed and teased her husband.

Cam smirked and after a wistful smile at the now empty doorway, ascended the platform.

"What?" Hodgins grabbed at Angela. "I do! That's exactly how I look at you!"

She allowed him to kiss her cheek with a sniff. "Oh, no you don't, buster. And don't think I'm going to let you forget it." She pulled a face and headed to her office.

"Angie . . . baby . . . mother of my unborn child . . ."

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><p><em>Typical Booth and Brennan, making everybody else look bad. :-)<em>

_Thanks for reading!  
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	23. Candlelight and Wine

_AN: You know, it's getting to the point that every time I post a O/S, I get emails asking for a followup. I'm not sure whether my O/Ss should be more complete or if I have readers who are just never happy. :-) Either way, I appreciate the prompts because in many cases, they take me down roads I hadn't considered writing about._

_This is a followup to _A Woman's Prerogative,_ which is Chapter 15 of the _160 Characters or Less_ collection (link: s/7436503/15/). If you haven't read it, you might be a bit confused. _

_Enjoy!  
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If he expected to be met that evening with soft music playing over a table set with candles and wine, he was wrong.

Brennan rather perfunctorily examined the wound in his arm, pronounced the stitches uneven, the doctor who'd sewn them incompetent, and the likelihood of a new scar high . . . and did not mention marriage again. Nor did he.

He waited.

A week passed.

And then another.

They had breakfast together, the three of them.

Max came every morning, to the delight of the dark-haired toddler who ran screaming to the door at the first sound of his key. Booth went to his office. Brennan went to the lab. Twice they stood side-by-side over the bones of poor souls dead before their time.

Once he missed dinner, when a suspect's interview went overlong.

Another evening it was Brennan, so caught up in the puzzle of ancient remains that she lost track of time.

When it was his turn to read a bedtime story, he deliberately skipped lines and pretended innocence and laughed when his bright little girl scolded him and made him start over.

When it was Brennan's turn, she pointed out one word on each page, her head bent toward her daughter as they said each letter aloud and learned a new word.

Every night they slept beside each other and every morning they woke up together and in between they made love and lived the life they'd both hoped for. The life they had taken seven years to find. The one eighteen weeks apart had left battered and bruised. The new life they'd carefully nurtured and rebuilt over the two years that separated then and now.

He didn't forget her casual mention of marriage but truth be told, he already had everything he wanted. He could wait.

So he did.

Another week passed.

And then another.

Then one night he opened the door from the garage and was greeted with the slow, sultry caress of music. Stepping further into the house he saw a few lamps turned on to chase back the dusk but mainly, he noticed candles. On every surface the tiny flames danced and flickered, casting shadows and creating an air of seductive intimacy that sent his pulse racing.

Brennan stepped out of the kitchen, a large salad bowl in her hands, the red dress that swirled above her knees one she hadn't worn since the night of their first real date. She hesitated when she noticed him standing there looking over the preparations she'd made.

He smiled broadly. "Hey." His casual shrug was at odds with the happy, teasing light in his dark eyes. "I'm home."

Brennan's chin lifted imperiously. "Yes, I can see that." She turned toward the table set romantically for the two of them. "Dinner is ready," she said over her shoulder, "if you'd like to wash up."

"Sure," he agreed, his grin still wide and happy. As he passed by he allowed his fingers to trail up the ridge of her spine, the ivory skin revealed by the cut of the dress she wore. She gasped sharply, arching at his touch, and closed her eyes when he brushed her hair aside and pressed a soft, lingering kiss on her shoulder. "I won't be long."

When he returned scant moments later, missing his jacket and tie, with sleeves rolled up, she was pouring wine. She gestured him to his chair. "I hope it's not overcooked," she said, indicating the steak on his plate. "I know you prefer it raw."

"Rare," he corrected automatically as he cut into it. His eyes closed as he chewed. "Mm. This is perfect." Sipping his wine, he looked toward the stairs. "Christine sleeping already?"

"Angela took her for the night." Paying far more attention to her own plate than it deserved, Brennan carefully avoided his eyes. Booth bit back a smile and decided to let her.

Despite the current of awareness that seemed to electrify every random glance and casual touch, dinner proceeded in much the same way it always did. They had once tried banning from the table any talk of work or case-related topics but when that proved impossible, had settled for leaving out the most gruesome of details - with Booth having the final word on what was too disgusting to discuss over food.

Finally, after they'd settled plans for the upcoming weekend with Parker and argued - again - over the addition Brennan wanted built over the garage and then shelved the topic of fencing in the backyard - again - their plates were empty and the bottle of wine sitting between them was almost so. Brennan carried their plates into the kitchen and came back with small bowls of still-warm berry cobbler, topped with a melting scoop of ice cream.

She placed one bowl in front of Booth, along with a neatly typed sheet of paper.

With a murmur of appreciation, he picked up a spoon in one hand and the single page in the other.

"What's this?" he asked curiously.

Brennan dipped her spoon delicately into the ice cream. "It is a list of reasons explaining why I have changed my mind about the necessity of our need to marry."

He skimmed the sheet quickly, his lips closed around the bite of cobbler. "You made a list?"

"Yes," she nodded. "I have found that making a list of the factors for and against a particular outcome can be very helpful in the decision-making process." She pointed to the paper with her spoon. "You can see that the list of reasons for marriage is significantly longer than the list of reasons against it." She grimaced. "Of course, most of the reasons in favor are based on society attaching so many legal rights and responsibilities to-"

"Bones," Booth's laughter interrupted her. "I think you missed the point of a _romantic_ proposal." He dropped the page and air-quoted the word with the fingers of one hand.

"I did exactly what you asked for, Booth!" she disagreed. "Dinner," she pointed out, "I even prepared steak for you. Wine," she gestured to the wine bottle between them and then waved toward the rest of the room. "Candles. It took me an hour to light all of these candles, Booth!" she exclaimed with a frown.

He laughed at her expression. "And it looks great, Bones, really. But, you know," he tapped the list playfully, "most proposals don't come with homework."

Brennan rolled her eyes. "I'm sorry, I don't have as much experience as you do crafting proposals of marriage."

There was a beat of silence.

He stared at her as the words hung in the room, stunned and not a little hurt.

She was immediately horrified.

"Booth . . ."

Quietly, he laid the spoon on the table beside the bowl and, without looking at her, pushed back from the table.

Her stricken gaze followed his progress as he opened the door to the patio and stepped outside.

China and crystal and silverware clanked when her fist pounded once on the table.

"Booth." She stopped just outside the door and spoke to the wide back in front of her. "I apologize." She drew a deep breath. "I'm sorry. That was insensitive of me." She blinked back angry tears. "I knew I would do this wrong . . . that it would be wrong . . ." She put her hand on a hard, muscled arm as she slipped in front of him and left it there while she gazed earnestly into the wary, bruised depths of his eyes.

"I don't know how to romanticize something I don't believe we need . . . something you and I don't need," she explained, "to affirm our commitment to each other. That piece of paper," she gestured back toward the house, "it . . . it allows us to file the same tax return," she scoffed. "And if you're hurt," she swallowed, "if you're hurt it means I can say that I'm your . . . your w- wife." She stumbled briefly over the word. "It means that I can say I'm your wife and the nurse on the other end of the phone will take me seriously and not leave me to worry about how badly you might have been injured."

The brilliant blue of her eyes was highlighted by the liquid crystal of tears that hadn't yet spilled over. "There's nothing on a marriage license that says anything about us," she insisted, her voice breaking. "About who we are. There's nothing there that describes the life I want to build with you, or the family we have." One single tear escaped to slide unimpeded over her cheek. "That document doesn't describe how alone I was during those months when we were separated." She swiped angrily at a second tear that slipped free to follow the first. "It doesn't tell everyone that I felt as if part of me was missing and that for four months my life revolved around a few words on a cell phone."

"It's a piece of paper," she said again. "It's a piece of paper that says nothing about how important you are to me or how committed I am to you." This time, she didn't notice when other tears fell. "I don't know how to romanticize a piece of paper that I don't think we need but apparently," she huffed, "the rest of the world does in order to give our relationship legitimacy. I don't know how," she said again, staring at him with eyes that pleaded for understanding.

Booth cupped her cheek in one large hand and with his thumb, erased the traces of her tears. "I think you're doing a pretty good job," he whispered softly. His thumb moved to rub gently over her lips. "Will you marry me, Bones? To make the rest of the world happy?"

The tension that had filled her since her ill-advised words at the table escaped in a puff of weepy laughter. She reached up and covered his hand with hers. "Will you marry me, Booth? Even though I think it's ridiculous and we don't need it?"

His eyes were damp, too, when he tugged her close. His lips descended on hers.

"Yea."

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><p>.<p>

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_I don't think she got around to changing into the black thing that night. But that's okay, because there will be plenty of other opportunities. :-)_

_Thanks for reading!  
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	24. TMI

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_**Content moved to Roots & Wings, Chapter 32.**_

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	25. The Truth in the Closet

_One __of __my __favorite __TV __moments __ever __came __from __the __first __episode __of _CSI: New York_. __Although __I __lost __interest __in __the __show __pretty __quick__, __I __adore __Gary __Sinise __so __I __was __watching __when __it __debuted__. __His __character__'__s __story __included __the __fact __that __his __wife __had __been __killed __in __the __World __Trade __Center __attacks __on __September__ 11. O__ne __particular __scene __in __the __pilot __showed __him __at __home__, __removing __a __beach __ball __from a __closet__. __His __wife __had __blown __it __up __and __he __couldn__'__t __bear __to __get __rid __of __it __because __it __contained __her __breath, and that__ beach __ball __was __the __last__, __tangible __piece __of __her __he __had__. __While __incredibly __sad __and __tragic__, __I__'__ve __always __thought __that __was __one __of __the __most __beautiful, __romantic __moments __ever__. _

_The __B__&__B __I __carry __in __my __head__, __the __ones __I __see __when __I __write__, __they __have __that __kind __of __love__. __And __I __want __them __to __have __a __beach __ball __moment__. _

_(__Alternate __ending __for__ S6.03__, _The Maggots in the Meathead. Fair warning, Here Be Hannah.)

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><p>.<p>

Booth hung on to the shiny red bow in his hand and stared at the door for several long minutes after it closed behind Brennan. He felt vaguely unsettled and somewhat disappointed and was both afraid and unwilling to examine either feeling very deeply.

"So, you really like it?" The bright voice behind him captured his attention. He turned immediately. "The phone?" Hannah patted the receiver with a wide smile.

"Yea!" he exclaimed, and locked the dangerous thoughts away firmly. "Absolutely!" His hands circled her waist as he pulled her close for a kiss. "I've always wanted one of those!"

She linked her arms around his neck. "That's what Temperance said! I'm so glad you have friends who know you so well," she laughed, "otherwise, I probably would have bought you socks!"

Booth ignored the twinge he felt at the sound of Brennan's name and kissed Hannah again. "Well, socks would have been great, too!" He glanced over at the small pile of luggage on the floor. "Is that really it? That's all you brought with you?"

"That's it," she shrugged. "What can I say, I travel light!"

"Well, you know what that means." His voice lowered to a seductive murmur as he shifted against her body. "It won't take us long to get you unpacked and then we can celebrate you moving in."

"mmmmmm." Hannah responded immediately as she snuggled closer. "Then let's hurry!"

Booth picked up two bags while she grabbed the third and followed him into the bedroom. He dropped his burden just inside the door and crossed to the closet. The light inside came on with a flick of his finger; he immediately began shifting hangers from one side to the other.

"How much space do you need?" he asked over his shoulder when Hannah stepped inside the small interior after him.

"Oh . . ." She examined one wall carefully. "Maybe half of this side?" She waved her hand over the clothes already hanging there.

"That's it?" Booth frowned. "There's plenty of room - hell, I don't even wear some of that stuff anymore. I should get rid of most of it." He grabbed an armful and transferred his belongings to the other bar. "Take as much as you want."

Hannah shook her head. "That should be more than enough." She gathered several of his shirts and passed them over. "You are obviously the clothes-horse in this relationship, Seeley." They worked together for several minutes to reshuffle and reconfigure the items in the closet. "I'll need a few empty hangers, though. Got any extras?"

He nodded toward the back of the closet. "Help yourself."

Taking the opportunity to grope his backside with a giggle and kiss on his ear, Hannah squeezed her way around him. A long black garment bag tucked against the wall caught her attention. "Oooh, what's this? A tux? I love a man who owns a tux!"

Busy grouping shirts and suits together, Booth shook his head without looking over. "Well, I hope you love a man who rents a tux because -"

"Ewww." His head swiveled around at the sharp sound of her disgust. "What is this?" The garment bag was in her hands, unzipped and hanging open to reveal a white dress shirt marked by a large rusty brown stain that spread across the center.

Booth froze for an instant then took one step toward her and jerked the bag away. "Don't touch that!"

Taken aback by his abrupt tone, Hannah watched with a frown as he slowly, almost gently, tucked the sleeves back into the plastic and rezipped it carefully.

"What is it?" she asked again. "Is that . . . it looked like blood. Is it yours? How badly were you hurt?"

His jaw set, Booth hung the bag at the rear of what was now his side of the closet. "I wasn't hurt. It's not my blood."

Hannah looked from his stiff profile to the closed black sheath; her shrewd eyes captured the movement of his fingers as they lingered against the seam of the shiny nylon.

"Why would you keep a bloody shirt that's not yours?" Unsettled, she couldn't resist the question. "Did you lose a partner -"

In the suddenly tense atmosphere of the closet, she heard the swift intake of his breath, and saw a muscle jump in his cheek before Booth abruptly turned back his back on her. "No, I didn't lose . . . It was Bones. It's hers. The blood is hers."

Hannah's mouth opened soundlessly; she stared at the bag and remembered the dark, heavy stain on the white cotton. "Temperance?" she clarified carefully, her eyes wide. "It's her blood?" Her gaze went to Booth, to the back of his head, because he wouldn't look at her. "Oh," she said slowly. "What happened? How was she hurt?"

His silence went on for so long she didn't think he was going to answer. "We had a case last year," he said finally. "She went by herself to see one of the suspects. He attacked her." His tone was curt, the words short and harsh. "If I hadn't gotten there in time -" He bit off the rest of the sentence.

She waited for him to continue and when he didn't, prodded further. "What happened to the suspect?"

A group of thin metal hangers from a local dry cleaner crumpled beneath his fingers. "He's dead." His eyes were unfocused as he stared straight ahead. "I shot him."

Hannah watched him carefully for several minutes. When she spoke, her voice was quiet. "She's the one, isn't she?"

Her choice of words got his attention; he frowned as he looked at her. "The one what?"

She held his eyes sympathetically, filled with the bittersweet knowledge of truth. "The one who didn't love you back." At his shocked face, she attempted a casual shrug. "Remember that night in Kabul, when we had a little too much to drink? I asked why a guy like you didn't have a girl back home and you said '_because __she __didn__'__t __love __me __back__.'_" Her own face reflected resignation. "You meant Temperance, didn't you?"

"Bones is my partner," Booth responded automatically. "That's all." He gathered another handful of shirts from just beyond her shoulder and shoved them carelessly onto the bar in front of him. "That's all."

Hannah didn't hesitate. She chose several of the shirts he'd just rearranged and moved them back to the area he was trying to clear for her.

"What are you doing?"

She faced him, disappointed but resolute. "You have a bloody shirt hanging in your closet, Seeley. I really don't think there's room for me." She cupped his face in her hands and went on tiptoe to place one last, lingering kiss on his lips.

"Hannah . . ."

When she stepped back she glanced toward the garment bag again. "I think you're wrong, you know. About Temperance. You should tell her." Standing as if rooted in place, Booth watched her leave the small closet.

Hannah gathered the bags she'd never had the chance to unpack and looked around the apartment that might have been home, at least for a little while. The phone caught her eye.

"Be good to him," she whispered and then let herself out.

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><p><em>I know, I know - "Oh my God, <em>another_ Hannah story!" But hear me out! First, this is only the third one I've written so I'm still under quota. Second, see how nice I was? Nothing bitchy in this at all. That's gotta earn me a gold star somewhere. And third, I've always wondered what Booth did with Brennan's shirt from _Harbingers in the Fountain._ And now I can say I know, even if only in my own head._


	26. Through the Looking Glass

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_**Content moved to Roots & Wings, Chapter 33.**_

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	27. Sweet Nothings

"I'll call you when we have something else to report," Brennan spoke into her phone. "Yes . . . I love you, too, Booth. Goodbye." She tucked the small rectangle into the pocket of her lab coat and bent over the carefully arranged skeleton on the table in front of her. Aware of Angela's speculative gaze, she looked up curiously. "Is something wrong?"

Angela pressed her clipboard against her chest and peered at her friend. "Do you and Booth ever call each other anything else?"

Brennan frowned. "What do you mean?"

Her shoulders lifted casually. "You know, something other than Bones or Booth."

Brennan was still obviously confused. "Are you asking if I ever refer to Booth as Seeley?" She shook her head. "I don't. I think of him as Booth."

"No." Angela waved one hand in the air. "I mean things like sweetie or honey or baby or . . ." she grinned mischievously, "stud muffin. Stuff like that. I've never heard either of you say anything except Booth and Bones."

Brennan laughed. "Stud muffin?" she repeated. "No." She was still chuckling when she picked up a femur. "We refer to each other by our names."

Angela leaned one hip against the table and watched Brennan work. "Well, I guess since we're talking about Booth you'd have to go with stud loaf," she winked. "Since he's the whole enchilada."

Brennan rolled her eyes. "Even I know that you just mixed your metaphors."

"Yea, but you get the picture," Angela smirked. "It's just . . . I don't know. You guys have been together long enough that you shouldn't be so formal all the time, that's all. I have all kinds of names for Hodgins-"

Brennan stopped her with a look. "I really don't want to know what pet names you use for Dr. Hodgins, Angela."

"Okay, fine." Angela gave in gracefully. "But it might give you some ideas."

"Do you see this?" Brennan effectively changed the subject as she pointed to a shaded spot on the femur. "We need to find out what caused this damage . . ."

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Brennan was quiet through dinner and more than once, Booth caught her eyeing him consideringly. Finally, he gave in. "Is something wrong? You've been giving me the side-eye all night. It means you've been giving me strange looks," he added when she immediately opened her mouth.

"Actually . . ." She hesitated briefly. "Angela says-"

"Stop." Booth held up one hand to interrupt her. "Stop right there. Never mind." He got up and began carrying dishes into the kitchen.

"What?" Brennan exclaimed in surprise. "Why?"

"Because whenever you start a conversation with _Angela says_," he explained on his way back, "something is going to happen that I'm not going to like."

She stared at him for a minute, lips pursed. "Is something wrong with our relationship?" she asked bluntly.

"What?" The bowl Booth had just picked up fell back to the table with a clatter. "Why would you ask that?"

Brennan nervously linked her hands together in her lap. "We only refer to each other by our names, Booth and Bones," she explained. "Given our commitment, we should be more comfortable being informal."

It was Booth's turn to be confused. "I thought you liked Bones," he said. "Do you want me to call you Temperance now?" he asked, his expression betraying his distaste for the idea.

"No," she shook her head. "I do like Bones. Well," she amended. "I like that you call me Bones. However, Angela said-" Booth huffed in exasperation and threw his hands in the air. "Angela wondered," she continued a bit louder, "why we never use endearments. You know," she said awkwardly, "phrases like honey or darling."

"Yea, I know what they are." Booth let his arms fall to his side. "I don't know - you're Bones," he shrugged. "That's how I think of you. Plus I sort of figured you weren't comfortable with that kind of mushy stuff and probably don't know many of those phrases anyway, so-"

"I have a great appreciation for mushy stuff," Brennan disagreed firmly. She pushed back from the table and stood up. "Certain words and phrases can be very heartwarming. As a matter of fact, I know endearments in several different languages."

Booth's dark eyes narrowed on her. "You aren't going to start calling me your . . ." he searched for something completely inappropriate, "your cute little clavicle or anything like that, are you?"

Her brow wrinkled. "Why would I call you that? The clavicle isn't a particularly attractive bone, Booth." She gathered up the rest of the dishes from the table. "The ribs on the other hand," she added over her shoulder, "are quite lovely. Their smooth curvature is very graceful, almost beautiful in fact."

His heavy sigh followed her from the dining room into the kitchen. "One of these days, I'm going to strangle Angela."

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Booth swiped his security card and bounded up the steps of the platform. "Okay, what'cha got for me, people?"

"How about cause of death?" Cam asked. "We just got the rest results back."

"Yes," Brennan added. "I thought you'd want to know immediately, Bo- sweetheart."

Everyone on the platform froze. There was a beat of shocked silence before, in one motion, every head turned toward Brennan. Oblivious, she maneuvered the magnification light over the remains.

Booth glared at Angela, who grinned back. "Yea . . cause of death would be good . . . uh, darling."

Brennan rewarded him with a bright smile. "This break," she pointed out, "I originally assumed the damage was caused by the fall but after further examination, I conclude the victim was attacked with a heavy, blunt object." She hesitated briefly. "My love."

Finn's eyes darted back and forth between them.

"Okay . . . honey." Booth cleared his throat roughly. "Any ideas what the heavy, blunt object might have been?"

Brennan looked expectantly at Hodgins. After a few seconds of awkward silence, Cam threw an elbow into his ribs. "Oh! Right!" he exclaimed finally. "Yea." His eyes slid to his wife, who was hiding a smile behind the fingers of one hand. "Blunt object. Sledgehammer."

"Sledgehammer," Booth repeated. "That's what you've got?" He noticed Brennan's expectant gaze and added with a tight smile, "Pumpkin?"

Shoulders shaking, Cam suddenly found her feet fascinating.

"Yes," Brennan nodded. "One with a diameter of approximately six inches. Dear."

"Well, then," Booth stuck his hands in his pockets. "All right. A sledgehammer with a diameter of six inches. I'll get a warrant." When his gaze circled the people on the platform, they each avoided eye contact - except Brennan who looked so pleased with herself, and with him, that he laughed in spite of himself. He leaned forward and kissed her lightly. "Thanks again . . . honey."

"You've already used that one," she admonished.

"Sorry," he grinned. "I guess I'm out of practice."

"Maybe we could find a book," she offered. "A list might be helpful."

Behind him, Hodgins slapped a hand over Angela's mouth before she could respond.

Still smiling, Booth turned to leave and ignored the immediate flurry of movement as everyone tried to look busy. He paused for a second as he passed Angela. "Don't think I don't know whose fault this is," he whispered softly.

"Go find your book, sweetcheeks," she teased playfully.

His eyes narrowed on hers. "Payback's a bitch, sugar."

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><p>.<p>

_AN: I used to have a joke with my 2nd husband that at 6'5 and 240ish, he was too big to be a muffin so he was my stud-loaf. :-D _

_(I don't care what the closed captioning says, I heard Booth call Brennan "honey" last night. Don't even try to convince me otherwise. I'm unsmoteable.)  
><em>


	28. All Hallows' Eve

_AN: Sherri, one of my bestest, dearest friends, asked for a Halloween fic. This, as you might have guessed by the title, is a Halloween fic - Razztaztic-style. Enjoy! :-)_

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><p>.<p>

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The Wonder Woman costume didn't fit.

Well, the bottom half of it fit just fine. The top half, however . . .

"She's finally aslee- Whoa." Booth stopped in the doorway of their bedroom and ogled the expanse of lush white flesh overflowing the bodice. "Um . . . wow."

Brennan turned this way and that as she examined her reflection in the mirror. "Pregnancy and nursing have increased the size of my breasts significantly." Her disappointment was obvious. "I don't believe I can wear this to Angela's party."

"No," Booth agreed. He crossed his arms, leaned against the door frame and enjoyed the view. "You're barely wearing it now."

"But I'm always Wonder Woman." He hid a smile as she pouted. "I love this costume."

"We'll find something else," he promised. "How about Batgirl? I can be Batman and Chrissy can be Robin."

Her lip curled in a gesture very close to a sneer. "Batgirl? I don't think so."

"Well, we have three weeks," he pointed out. "I'm sure we'll come up with an idea or two."

"I suppose." Brennan glanced once more at her reflection, sighed deeply then turned her back to him. "Will you unzip me?"

A slow smile crept across his face as Booth pushed off from the door. "Maybe you should leave it on for a little while longer."

She gathered her hair into one thick tail and looked over her shoulder at him. "Why should I . . ." The glint in his eye was unmistakable. "Oh."

His hands slid along the outline of her hips to her waist. He bit lightly at the point where her neck and shoulder met. "Have I ever told you I had a crush on Wonder Woman when I was a kid?" he growled against the goosebumps that rose beneath her skin.

Brennan's head fell to the left in response to the razing of his teeth. "No, you haven't mentioned it," she gasped at the feel of his tongue beneath her ear.

"I always wanted to be the bad guy," he continued in a rough whisper as his hands slipped up her ribcage, "so she could tie me up with her Lasso of Truth."

"I . . . I have a golden lasso." Her words came out on a breath of air.

She felt the curve of his lips as he smiled. "Huh. You do, don't you . . ."

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**Two days later:**

_what__ abt __toy __story__? __me __woody__, __u __jessie__, __c __buzz__?_

_Who__?_

_nevr __mind_

_._

_._

_._

**Four days later:**

_snow __white__? __me __prince__, __u __wicked __stepmothr_

_Fairy __tales __create __unreasonable __expectations __for __young __girls__, __both __in __terms __of __an __over__-__reliance __on __appearance __and __by __teaching __them __that __a __hero __will __always __arrive __to __save __them__. __That __is __not __the __example __I __want __to __set __for __our __daughter__._

_shes__ 8 __mos __old__! _

_._

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**Three days before Halloween:**

_luke__? __leia__? __c __can __be __yoda_

_Who__?_

_ur __killing __me __bones_

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><em>

**Halloween:**

Brennan complained all the way to the Hodgins estate, where the party was being held. "I don't like these costumes."

"Yea, you've mentioned that a few hundred times." Booth brushed aside her comment.

"I'm sure we could have found something else-"

"The day before Halloween?" Booth looked at her incredulously. "We're lucky we found anything!"

"I had several ideas-"

"So did I," he insisted. "And you shot them all down . . ."

They were still bickering when Angela opened the front door. "Hey, finally! We've been waiting for . . ." Her voice trailed off at the sight of Booth's bare calves showing below the hem of his coat. "Please tell me you're a flasher," she laughed, only half joking as she stood back to let them inside.

"Har har," Booth responded dryly. "Red Queen, right? See?" He looked at Brennan. "Alice in Wonderland was a good idea!"

Angela laughed merrily when Booth handed over his coat and took Christine from Brennan so she could do the same. "The Flintstones?" she giggled.

"I told you these were stupid costumes," Brennan muttered, glaring at Booth. "Humans and dinosaurs did not coexist-"

"It's a cartoon, Bones!"

A wolf whistle interrupted the renewal of the argument. Hodgins, dressed as the Mad Hatter, approached leading a small Cheshire Cat by the hand. "Nice legs there, Booth."

"Shut up, Hodgins."

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"Okay, these are stupid costumes," Booth agreed twenty minutes later. "And if another one of your squints makes a crack about my legs, I'm going to shoot someone."

Brennan looked at him curiously. "Did you bring your gun?"

"I always have my gun."

She studied the garish costume carefully. "Where is your holster?"

"I think Pebbles needs a diaper change." Max appeared with Christine in his arms. The plastic ball attached to his ankle clanked against the floor as he walked. "Where's her bag?"

Booth rolled his eyes. "I can't believe you came dressed as a crook, Max." He shook his head at the striped suit. "Only you."

"Lighten up, Fred," Max laughed. "It's a party."

Booth and Brennan exchanged pained looks just as Cam, in a skin-tight blue jumpsuit meant to evoke the character Mystique, approached with Daisy, who wore a miles-wide Cinderella ballgown. "What happened to Wonder Woman, anyway?" She sipped carefully at the drink she held, in an effort to avoid smearing her makeup.

"At present," Brennan explained, "my breasts are too large for the bodice of the costume." Clark, suave in a white sailor's uniform, immediately changed his mind about joining them and pivoted away on one heel.

Cam hid a smile. "Well, some women would love to have that problem," she murmured.

"Yes, Booth seems quite pleased with their increased size."

"Bones!"

"What?"

"I'll just go find Christine's diaper bag." Max quickly made his getaway.

"It a perfectly natural reaction, Agent Booth," Daisy explained earnestly. "Anthropologically speaking, large breasts are a symbol of a woman's ability to nurture and care for her young. In reality, of course, size has nothing to do with how much milk a woman produces. My breasts, for example, are small but-"

"Stop talking." Booth held up one hand. "Right now."

Sweets, dressed as an airline pilot, appeared behind Daisy. "What's going on?"

"We're discussing Dr. Brennan's breasts," Daisy answered.

"No, we aren't!" Booth exclaimed loudly.

"I was explaining to Dr. Saroyan why I'm not wearing my usual Wonder Woman costume," Brennan elaborated. "Due to the various changes caused by pregnancy and nursing Christine, my breasts are too large to fit properly within the confines of the bodice."

Conscious of the glaring FBI agent across from him, Sweets very carefully kept his eyes on Brennan's face. "Uh, well," he stammered, "some changes are . . . uh . . ."

"Stop while you're ahead, Dr. Sweets," Cam said softly.

"Right," he nodded quickly. "I think I need a refill. Anyone else?"

"I definitely need a drink." Booth stalked away from the group.

"Poor Agent Booth," Daisy commiserated as Sweets followed in his footsteps. "Some people just don't like Halloween."

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><p><em>If laughter really is the best medicine, I hope this makes you feel better, Sherri!<em>

_Happy Halloween!_


	29. Into the Spotlight

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_**Content moved to Roots & Wings, Chapter 34.**_

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	30. Research

_AN: I was so thrilled to contribute a little something to the surprise fanfic collection RositaLG put together in honor of Ren's (sunsetdreamer) graduation. What a fun project - you should go read the whole thing at s/8663984/1/Bones-Je-Taime!  
><em>

_Let's set this OS soon after _The Change in the Game.

_(Thanks very much to Alanna1231 and penandra for the beta work. You guys are the super awesomest!)_

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><p>.<p>

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Booth was comfortably ensconced on the sofa, remote control in hand, when the sudden silence coming from Brennan's place at the narrow bar in his small kitchen caught his attention. He looked up to find her staring at him thoughtfully, hands poised above her laptop.

"What?"

She slipped off the chair and crossed the room to his side. Sitting so that her torso faced his, she leaned across his chest.

"I would like you to kiss me."

He tossed the remote aside. "Okay." Temperance Brennan, he had discovered, was as direct about sex as she was about everything else and as he was now the lucky beneficiary of that directness, he was more than happy to adjust his plans accordingly. Obliging her request, he spread his hands across the softness of her back and drew her in close.

Sparks flew immediately. The low hum of her approving murmur vibrated through both of them as her lips parted at the first brush of his tongue against hers. His arms tightened, hers slipped over his shoulders as she pressed against the hard muscles of his chest. Gradually, as the kiss deepened and heat rose in waves between them, he lowered her back against the arm of the couch until she was half lying across his lap.

"This doesn't work," Brennan muttered between kisses.

"It's working for me," he smiled against her skin as he bit gently beneath her jaw.

"No, Booth . . ." She sat up abruptly and then just as quickly straddled him, one knee lodged between his thigh and the edge of the sofa.

He groaned as she rotated against the erection straining the zipper of his jeans. "Yea, that's better . . . Jesus, Bones!" His fingers bit into her hips before he roughly pushed his hands beneath the loose cotton t-shirt she wore. He was just fitting the lush swell of her breasts into his palms when she dropped a quick kiss on his forehead and pulled away.

"Yes, that was much better. Thank you!"

It took a few seconds before his lust-fogged brain registered her sudden absence. By the time he blinked the haze away, she was back in the chair, her fingers once again flying over the keyboard of her laptop.

"Wha . . . Hey!" The sound of tapping continued without ceasing. "Hey!" Booth raised his voice. "What was that all about?"

Brennan's eyes were focused on the words appearing on her screen. "I needed to confirm the choreography of this scene." She flashed a look in his direction. "Thank you for your assistance," she added, her tone distracted as she backspaced and retyped.

"Confirm . . . choreography . . ." Flabbergasted, Booth stared at her while he rubbed the heel of one hand over his still engorged penis. "That was research!?" His tone betrayed his outrage.

"Yes." Her nails clicked across the keys. "In the past, I would have phoned Angela with that type of inquiry but," she continued blithely as she offered him a brilliant smile, "now I have you."

When she turned back to her computer, he huffed in disbelief and looked down at his lap. "Well, aren't we the lucky ones," he muttered to his zipper. He had just picked up the remote again when Brennan closed her laptop with a snap.

She paused in the hallway leading to the bedroom. "Booth?" She looked at him expectantly. "Don't you want to have intercourse?" With one smooth movement, she lifted her arms high overhead and removed her shirt.

Booth stared at her, mouth open.

Arms bent behind her back, she hesitated before taking off her bra. "Unless you don't want to-"

"Yes!" Booth was off the couch immediately. "I was just making sure this wasn't more research," he commented snidely as he stripped off his own t-shirt.

"Don't be silly." She let her bra fall to the floor. "I'm familiar with the mechanics of sexual congress."

"But . . . you just . . . I was . . . you said . . ." Booth stuttered his way down the hallway as clothes fell to the floor behind them. When she turned in the doorway, wearing nothing but a twinkle that told him she knew exactly what she'd done, he laughed unwillingly. "You did that on purpose, didn't you?"

Her answer was a shrug as she backed away from him.

The heat in his brown eyes promised a sultry revenge. "Yea? Well, let's see what you do with this scene . . . "


	31. A Well Dressed Man

_This is for Penandra and TanteMary, who are the best bad influences a girl could have. I hope you two are happy - look what you made me do. :-D_

_"A well-tailored suit is to women, what lingerie is to men."  
><em>

_Indeed._

__(Quote courtesy of Penny. See? Bad influence.)__

_._

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

.

She was his mate.

He was hers.

He had been an almost daily part of her life for eight years. Nine, if she was honest with herself about how frequently she thought of him during that year after the Gemma Arrington case.

She'd seen him at his best and at his worst.

She'd seen him wearing a tux, dressed for a formal event.

She'd seen him in filthy sweats, covered in mud after an impromptu game of flag football.

She'd seen him in underwear, and laughed at the silliness of his superhero worship.

She'd nursed him through the flu.

She'd patched up his scratches.

She knew the scruffiness of the hair on the back of his neck that always grew in too quickly after a haircut.

She knew the scars on the soles of his feet and the grimace of discomfort that crossed his face every morning when he first put them on the floor.

She knew every inch of warm, smooth golden skin in between. She knew where to touch to draw a laugh or a rumble of pleasure.

She knew him.

He was her mate.

She was his.

They shared a home.

They shared a daughter.

They shared a life.

But that morning, just by walking into the kitchen, he stole her breath away.

It was just a common morning like dozens of others. She was seated in front of their daughter, coaxing her to eat breakfast. She heard his footsteps. She smelled his cologne. She glanced over her shoulder, a smile already curving her lips.

And froze.

Forgot to breathe.

Her mouth fell open.

She didn't notice.

He was . . . he was right there. He was . . . _God__, __he __was __gorgeous__._

He didn't see her reaction.

He dropped a light kiss on top of their daughter's silky hair.

On his way to the refrigerator he let his hand slide softly across her shoulders.

Her head swiveled around to follow his progress.

He reached up for a coffee cup and the fine, dark wool of his suit stretched across his back.

She swallowed.

"New . . . Is that . . ." She heard herself stammer and shook her head. "Is that a new suit?" she finally managed.

Busy with his coffee, he glanced back at her with a smile.

That wide, happy smile that made his eyes sparkle and lit his whole face . . . _He __was __beautiful__. __She__'__d __noticed __that __before__, __hadn__'__t __she__? __The __adjective __was __wrong__ - __men __shouldn__'__t __be __beautiful __but__ . . . _

" . . . for Christmas finally. They finished the alternations yesterday." He turned to face her, leaning back easily against the counter, his long legs stretched out slightly in front of him. "Fits good, don't you think?" He looked down over his chest, appraising himself casually.

_Fits good__? __Dear __God__, __that__'__s __all __he __could __say__? _She stared at him from shoulders to toes and had no words. It fit as if it had been made for him, which, actually, it had been. He had finally used that store credit she'd given him for Christmas, she realized. The one he said was too much, that he'd never wear a suit that cost that much, that . . .

Her mouth went dry as she looked him over. _She saw him in a suit every day. Didn't she? Yes, she was sure she'd seen him in a suit before. But not this suit._ The jacket emphasized the width of his shoulders and their heavy muscular curve while the sleeves hugged his biceps, smoothly enhancing without hiding the power of the body within. Her gaze swept his chest, the blinding white shirt, the simple black tie, and lower . . . across the plain silver belt buckle, down the long legs . . .

" . . . home today?"

She had no idea he was talking. He was posed in front of her, dark and powerful and vaguely dangerous and she was instantly hungry for him. She wanted to put her hands on him, to feel his hands on her, she wanted . . .

"Bones?" She jerked to attention. He laughed and leaned over to kiss her. "I guess it's a good thing you're working at home today if you're going to daydream like that." When her lips clung to his, he smiled and kissed her again. "Don't tempt me," he murmured. He touched his cheek to the baby's head and headed to the door. "I'll see you tonight."

She watched him walk away, captured by his easy, loping grace. _Had she ever paid attention to the way he walked before? Why hadn't she noticed . . . _She was still staring at him when he reached the door and turned back. "Love you." His eyes held hers for a moment, then the door closed and he was gone.

She was suddenly hotly, furiously jealous of every woman who would see him that day. _Mine__._ The word growled through her subconscious. _Mine__. _

The baby in front of her began to fuss and wiggle in her high chair. She refocused on the infant and pushed aside the temptation to run after him but the memories of the morning stayed just on the edge of her thoughts. His cologne lingered in the air. When she blinked he was there . . . smiling at her . . .

She got nothing productive done that morning. She played with their daughter and she managed a bit of laundry but her brain refused to center itself on her work.

Her thoughts were full of him.

The way he looked, the movement of his shoulders beneath his jacket, the drape of the fabric over his legs . . .

That last smile.

Christine went down for her nap and she raced upstairs and pulled out the drawer of her bedside table. Within minutes she'd brought herself to a quick, brittle climax but it wasn't enough.

She lay there, sprawled across the bed, counting heartbeats as her breathing slowed to normal . . . and it wasn't enough.

It wasn't enough.

She wanted him.

He called to say he'd be later than expected and she only barely managed to keep the frustration out of her voice.

She gave up on anything that required concentration and just enjoyed being with their child.

And waited.

Christine was asleep by 7:30 and she was sitting at the bar, watching the door, a glass of wine in front of her.

Waiting.

At 7:40, his key turned in the lock. He stepped inside. He tossed his keys to the small table in the foyer, unwittingly . . . casually . . . displaying his body for her.

He'd loosened his tie just a bit.

He was tall. Powerful. Sexy.

Before his hand returned to his side, she was on him. She forced him back against the door with a thump.

"What-" Her mouth covered his. Hot. Hungry.

He decided to ask questions later.

He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight against him.

She slipped hers beneath his jacket and curled them up over his back.

"I've been thinking about you all day."

"You- Ouch." She bit underneath his jaw.

"I masturbated." She burrowed closer. He felt the hard points of her nipples against his chest.

"You-" She pulled his shirt loose from his pants.

"It wasn't enough." He sucked in his breath when she suckled at his ear.

"Why-" He didn't care why, not really. He just wanted to know what he'd done so he could be sure to do it again.

She grabbed his hands in hers and flattened them against the door. Her eyes on his were heavy with lust. "Don't move."

He wasn't sure he could have anyway.

"I love this suit," she purred against his neck. Her hands traveled across across his chest.

"The suit?" He was having a problem keeping his hands on the door. "You like the-"

She shut him up with another kiss.

When she lifted her lips from his, he was having a problem simply standing up.

She loosened his tie a bit more and licked at the hard knot of his Adam's apple.

"Can we go-" He felt her busy fingers at the buttons of his shirt.

"No." Her mouth traveled down his chest, licking at the skin revealed by each button freed.

"Bones-"

"Shut up."

When she was done, she looked down at the smooth expanse of hard flesh bracketed by the open white shirt and the inky black of his coat.

When she smiled, his blood - already sizzling - reached a slow boil.

She grabbed his tie and pulled his head down to hers.

"Lie down," she whispered against his lips.

"Here?" There was a perfectly comfortable bed upstairs and his back . . .

"Now."

He laid down.

When he reached for his belt buckle, she put her bare foot on his chest.

"Stop."

His hands fell to his sides.

She slowly undressed.

He forgot to breathe.

When she knelt over him and began to open his pants, he lifted his hips to help her slide them off.

Except she didn't.

"Why aren't you-" His eyes rolled back in his head.

She sank down on him with one graceful move. His open zipper bit into her inner thighs, adding a hint of pain to every rotation of her hips. From her place above him, she looked down and smiled with feline satisfaction.

He lay beneath her, displayed like a virile offering to a pagan goddess. Ropes of hard muscle moved beneath a miles-wide expanse of warm, golden skin, framed by finely woven black wool and pure white cotton. The look of him, wild and dangerous and decadent, fueled the heat already burning her from the inside out.

His fingers bit into her hips as he flexed up to meet her sensual sway. She took pleasure from him and watched as he received it from her and she felt powerful. Female. Worshipped.

When her orgasm came it ripped through both of them, an explosion of fire and ecstasy that burst from him with a roar that almost drowned out her own cry of release. When the first wave passed, she collapsed against his chest and let him hold her there while the last shuddering aftershocks faded.

She could hear his heartbeat thundering beneath her ear.

He felt her rapid breath pant hot against his neck.

"I'm . . . you know . . . this . . ."

"Um hmm." She nodded against his chest. She understood him perfectly.

He was her mate.

She was his.

.

.

* * *

><p><em>FYI, I didn't use any of George Carlin's no-no words so this was not smut.<em>

_Thanks for reading!  
><em>


	32. A Hasty Exit

In retrospect, it was an . . . issue . . . he should have anticipated.

He had known them for almost six years. He'd studied their interactions, had watched sparks flare even while they clung stubbornly to their "just partners" mantra. He'd seen Booth look at her with longing, and noticed Brennan stare at him when she thought no one was watching.

Once, he'd even warned them what would happen if they kissed, if the walls they'd erected to hold the other at bay were ever breached.

He just hadn't expected to get caught in the chaos.

The first time it happened, he only wanted clean underwear. He pushed at the door to the laundry room and before it opened six inches, it was slammed shut in his face. When he tried to force it open, it stubbornly wouldn't budge.

"Go away, Sweets." Booth's voice came from the other side.

"I just need . . ."

"Come back in thirty minutes." The faint, husky sound of Brennan's laughter floated out to his ears. "Make it 45."

When they finally appeared - well over an hour later - he didn't need the mussed hair, the misbuttoned clothes or the sleepy, satisfied air that hung over each of them to know why he'd been warned away.

But he made sure that from then on, he knocked before he even thought about going in the laundry room.

The second time . . . well, that wasn't really his fault. Sounds carried, after all. Especially in the middle of the night and especially when _someone_ turned out to be very vocal in her enjoyment of sex. You'd think, though, he grumbled as he pulled his pillow over his head, that in all the work they'd done on the house, they would have considered thicker walls. Or soundproofing.

He bought earplugs and started wearing them to bed.

This time, though . . .

All he wanted to do was sneak in a little time in their tub when no one (_i.e., Booth_) was there to glare at him with disapproval. The middle of the day would be perfect, he thought, when they were both in their respective offices. He could have his bath, turn on the jets, mull over the issues a particularly troublesome patient was facing, and no one (_i.e., Booth_) would be the wiser.

If he'd looked in the garage, he might have noticed Booth's SUV parked there.

If he'd stopped in the kitchen, he might have seen Brennan's bag on the counter.

If he'd looked at the chair beside their bed, he might have seen the suit coat tossed over the back or the leather boots thrown half hidden beneath the bed.

If he'd hesitated just a minute - thirty seconds, even - he might have heard the sound of water splashing or Brennan's low murmur.

But he did none of that. Instead, he just pushed open the bathroom door and . . .

And here he was. Sitting in his car at a stoplight a half a mile away, smoke still floating around his tires from the rubber he'd left behind speeding away from the house, with Booth's furious roar etched permanently on his eardrums.

He wondered idly if the FBI had a field office in Timbuktu.

He decided he definitely needed his own apartment.

And he was pretty sure he was going to need a place to hide.

.

.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: I actually don't mind Sweets living with B&amp;B because I think the potential for hilarious hijinx is awesome. But I can't help gigging him, just a bit.<strong>_

_**Thanks for reading!  
><strong>_


	33. Double Trouble

**AN: Merry Christmas Eve! **

**This OS is a combination birthday/thank you gift for Excellent Driver. First of all, today is her birthday so - HAPPY BIRTHDAY! Second, this is my way of saying "thank you" for the prompt she gave me that led to **_**"The Heart Won't Lie****."**_** This was also born from her Secret Santa list: **_**Booth and **_**_a girlfriend are going out and they meet Brennan with her date at the restaurant. They end up in a double date._ Now, seriously, how could I resist that idea?****  
><strong>

**This is set in Season 5, sometime after **_**The Predator in the Pool**_**_._  
><strong>

**E-Drive, I hope your birthday is wonderful and your Christmas is merry and bright!  
><strong>

**_.  
><em>**

**_.  
><em>**

* * *

><p><strong><em>.<br>_**

**_.  
><em>**

Andrew Hacker made an obvious point of rushing ahead of Brennan to pull the door of the restaurant open for her. "Allow me," he said, adding for good measure a wide, tooth-bearing grin. As she passed by, he took the opportunity to admire her slender, green-clad form before his hand found a space right below her shoulder blades.

Brennan stiffened slightly at his touch and discreetly widened her stride just a bit to step away from it. "Thank you," she managed, as she returned his smile, "although I am perfectly capable of opening my own - Oh! Hello."

Just inside the doorway, Booth stood beside Catherine Bryar.

"Bones!" Booth immediately dropped his hand from Catherine's arm. "Sir."

"Agent Booth." Obviously none too pleased with this surprise turn of events, Hacker's nod was short. "Dr. Bryar, how nice to see you again." He looked past them to the crowded tables in the dining room. "Seems to be busy tonight. I'm glad I made reservations."

Booth shrugged. "We had reservations, too, but we've been waiting for thirty minutes -"

Just then, a round bellied, silver-haired man looked up from the guests he was greeting at one table and caught Brennan's eye. "Temperance!" He hurried over, his hands reaching for hers. "How nice to see you again! And Seeley!" He pressed the same attention on Booth.

With a quick glance at Catherine and then at his boss, Booth cleared his throat and resettled his shoulders. "Bones and I, we've come here a few times . . ."

"We sometimes like to recognize the resolution of a case . . ." Brennan added quickly.

"Exactly! It's sort of a tradition -"

"And we certainly love having you here!" Beaming, the owner interrupted Booth. "Why are we keeping them waiting?" he hissed at the dark-suited maitre d behind the podium. "Seat them immediately!"

"It's the new reservation system," the other man tried to explain. "It double-booked everyone -"

The owner's smile was tight and a bit embarrassed. "So put them at the chef's table," he said through clenched teeth.

The maitre d looked from Booth to Catherine to Brennan. "But sir, they're not -"

Booth and Brennan spoke over each other.

"We aren't -"  
>"I'm here with Andrew -"<br>"Catherine and I -"  
>"We're just partners -"<p>

The owner seemed to realize his mistake. "Oh! Oh!" he exclaimed. His sharp eyes traveled from Hacker's somewhat confused expression to Catherine's analytical perusal of Booth and Brennan. "You aren't dining with each other . . . you have . . . Of course!" His smile became wide and cheerful. "Lovely. Lovely. What a silly misunderstanding, all on my part, obviously. And so nice to meet your . . . your friends." He made a point of reviewing the computer tablet which held the night's reservations. "We implemented a new system and it has completely gummed up the works," he explained officiously, "but perhaps, if you don't mind, we could seat you together - you are all acquainted, I presume?"

There was a moment's hesitation before both Hacker and Booth immediately began shaking their heads.

"No, that's okay, we'll -"  
>"I don't think -"<br>"I'm fine with sharing the table."  
>"That would be satisfactory."<p>

Everyone spoke at once, with Brennan and Catherine agreeing to the change as casually as the men dismissed it. The owner immediately waved a waitress over. "Wonderful," he nodded. "Wonderful. Carol will show you to your table immediately."

"There's no reason the four of us can't share a table." Brennan's gaze skipped over Booth before she turned to Hacker.

"I agree, especially if it means being seated quickly," Catherine nodded. "It would be a bit silly now to sit at separate tables on opposite sides of the room, don't you think?"

Ignoring the obviously unconvinced men, Brennan stepped forward. "Thank you, Howard," she murmured as she and Catherine followed Carol toward the dining room.

Left standing alone, Hacker and Booth eyed each other with distrust before, resigned to a different evening than either had anticipated, they hurried after their respective dates.

Booth reached Brennan's chair first. Without thinking, he instinctively reached out to pull it away from the table only to be stopped when, behind him, Hacker roughly cleared his throat. Jolted out of what had become a habit, Booth drew back and stepped quickly around the table to Catherine's side. Focusing on her, he ignored his boss's overly solicitous attention attention to his partner until he took his own place and found himself directly across the table from Brennan.

For a brief moment, their eyes met and held. Brennan was the first to look away.

The sommelier appeared with a wine list; his smile superior, Hacker reached for it. "I fancy myself an oenophile," he told Brennan. "May I choose?" He glanced around the table for approval.

Booth only just managed not to roll his eyes before his gaze snagged Brennan's again.

"Hmmm." Hacker studied the list. "Perhaps the Didier Dagueneau Silex Sauvignon Blanc . . ."

"Oh, that's a lovely vintage," Catherine agreed with an approving nod.

Booth shook his head. "Bones drinks red wine."

"Oh." Nonplussed, Hacker looked at his date. "Temperance, would you prefer -"

"I would," she nodded. "But there's no reason you and Dr. Bryar shouldn't enjoy your choice. Do you mind?" Brennan slipped the leather folio out of his hand. "Do you remember the wine we had last weekend?" she asked Booth as she looked over the selection herself. "I enjoyed that very much. Wasn't it from Spain?"

"I thought it was Argentina," he disagreed.

"Was it?" She didn't look convinced.

"Maybe Italian," he shrugged.

"Here it is!" she announced triumphantly. "Bodegas Roda Cirsion - Spanish," she added pointedly.

"Spain, Argentina," he grinned across the table at her. "Same thing."

"They're on completely separate continents!"

"I said Italian, too." He settled against the back of his chair and let his smile grow cocky. "That's close to Spain."

"You're being deliberately -"

"I believe that settles the wine, then," Hacker interrupted loudly, with a nod toward the waiter and a frown at Booth.

Brennan decided to ignore both of them. "Dr. Bryar -"

Catherine's glance flickered again between Booth and his partner before she smiled. "Please," she said. "Call me Catherine."

"Thank you," Brennan nodded. "I hope you'll call me Temperance." Before she could continue, the wine arrived, followed by a waiter with menus. While Hacker made a production of approving the bottle he'd ordered, the others began to discuss dinner options.

"Mmm, the Mediterranean stew looks delicious," Catherine murmured. Deciding to claim his attention, she put one hand on Booth's arm and leaned in close as she pointed out the item on his menu.

"It does," Brennan spoke up. "But it contains lentils."

Catherine straightened abruptly. "I'm sorry," she said to Booth. "Are you allergic?"

He hesitated. "No . . . not really . . ."

"When he eats lentils, he becomes flatulent," Brennan said matter-of-factly, without looking up from her own perusal of the menu.

"Bones!"

His loud exclamation got her attention. "What?"

Booth's face was filled with horror and embarrassment. "Really?" he whispered in disbelief. "You had to say that?"

"I don't understand," she answered, her brow furrowed. "Flatulence is a common digestive -"

"BONES!" His left eye began to twitch. "We are not going to discuss it!"

Her chin lifted. "You and Parker frequently discuss flatulence. The two of you -"

"He's nine!" Booth bit out. "That's what nine-year old boys talk about!"

"Even so -"

"I'm sorry," Catherine thought it was a good time to interrupt. "Parker?"

"Parker is Booth's son," Brennan explained before he could. "He's a wonderful little boy."

Booth was slightly mollified. "Thanks, Bones."

She was smiling at Catherine. "I attended his career-day program last week and found it a very rewarding experience. I'm looking forward to participating again next year."

"Oh, right." At her words, Booth shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Yea, about that . . ." he hesitated. "I was going to tell you . . . you can't be part of it next year."

"What?" Brennan exclaimed, surprised. "Why?"

"Well," he tried to explain gently, "you brought a skull to his class."

"Of course," she nodded. "I'm a forensic anthropologist. I work with bones."

"A human skull."

"A forensic anthropologist works with human remains."

Booth sighed. "You brought a human skull to a fourth-grade class, Bones," he said again. He folded his arms on the table and leaned across the table toward her. "A real human skull."

Forgotten, Catherine and Hacker exchanged an uncomfortable smile as their dates continued talking as if they were alone at the table.

"It was a visual aid," Brennan explained as she mimicked his pose until scant inches separated them. "I don't understand the issue. It wasn't from a victim of an active investigation," she scoffed. "As I explained to the class, the skull belonged to a Caucasian male in his mid-twenties, discovered outside Vicksburg, Mississippi, who probably died during the Civil War. I would never have -"

"You scared the kids." Booth's hands went out in a wide gesture before he folded them across his chest and sat back in his chair.

Dismay filled her expression. "I did?"

Immediately, he leaned forward again and reached out to touch her arm. "Not all of them," he reassured her quickly. "A couple of the girls," he dismissed them with a shrug, "one little boy. But they told their parents and their parents called the principal and," his face was sympathetic, "you can't come back next year."

Brennan's jaw jutted out obstinately. "Parker loved my presentation."

Booth laughed. "Parker loves you, Bones."

Her eyes widened as her entire face softened into a smile. "He does?"

His gaze as warm as melted chocolate, Booth let his hand trail over her arm until he found her hand and squeezed. "Of course he does."

Catherine's voice pulled them out of the moment. "I would love to meet your son." With a jerk, Booth sat up straight.

'Yes," he said immediately to the woman on his left. "That is a great idea! He's a great kid!" he gushed. "Hey, maybe we could take him to the aquarium . . ."

Hacker took advantage of the moment to lean in closer to Brennan. "What looks good to you, Temperance?" He opened his menu wide to share it with her.

For the next few minutes, Catherine and Hacker managed to hold their dates' attention while they discussed the menu and, when the waiter returned, placed their orders. With determination, Booth focused on the beautiful dark-haired woman beside him instead of the beautiful dark-haired woman sitting across from him. His task was made slightly easier with the help of his boss, who was just as determined to direct Brennan's thoughts toward him.

Three of the four people at the table began to slowly relax and breathe a bit easier.

The fourth person was blithely unaware of the discomfort inherent in the unexpected double date.

So, of course, she was the one who brought it all crashing down again.

Dinner was delivered, admired, tasted and commented on and the conversation gradually settled into an easy rhythm. Until . . .

Catherine sipped her wine and offered Booth a smile. "Is it difficult balancing such a dangerous job with fatherhood?" she asked. "I presume you are the only parent among us?" She looked curiously at the couple seated across the table.

"I don't have any kids that I know of," Hacker joked with a laugh.

"I am not a parent," Brennan said as she picked up her own glass. "I considered having Booth's child last year but it wasn't good timing."

Simultaneously, Booth and Hacker began to choke.

Around the dining room, heads turned toward their table.

Catherine's jaw dropped.

Brennan casually set her glass down and dipped into her salad.

Catherine looked from Booth's reddening, mortified face to the woman seated across from him. "I . . . didn't realize the two of you were . . ."

"No," Booth gasped as he struggled for breath. His hand waved in the air. "No . . . that's not . . . it wasn't . . . Bones!"

Glancing around the table, Brennan seemed to realize her words had been misinterpreted. "Oh, no," she explained to Catherine. "Booth and I are just partners. We weren't having sex. I just wanted his sperm."

The drink of water Hacker had just taken spewed out over the table.

Booth groaned and dropped his head in his hands.

Catherine blinked rapidly. "You just wanted his . . ." She couldn't quite get the word out.

"Yes," Brennan nodded. "Booth is an excellent donor. He has a very high sperm count. Excellent mobility."

"BONES!" Barely, he restrained himself from reaching across the table for her. "Would you stop talking about my . . ." A muscle in his jaw jumped. "Stop it!"

She sighed and frowned at Catherine. "He's very protective of his semen. I don't know why."

"You . . ." Booth's finger shot out toward her nose. "This is not . . ." He spoke around clenched teeth, his eyes promising retribution. "Don't . . ."

Muffled by the fabric of his jacket, his phone beeped a message. Still glaring hotly across the table at Brennan, he jerked it out of the pocket.

Almost immediately, an electronic chirp emanated from Brennan's purse.

"Body dump in Fairfax County," he read.

"Remains from more than one victim," she added.

They looked at each other, then turned to their dates.

"I'm so sorry, Catherine -"

"Andrew, I -"

Still busy wiping off the front of his suit, Hacker looked up with a tight smile. "Duty calls, Temperance. I completely understand. I'll just get the check and -"

"Booth and I have to leave but there's no reason you and Dr. Bryar can't enjoy the rest of your dinner," Brennan disagreed. "If Catherine doesn't mind?"

Neither Catherine nor Hacker appeared especially pleased with the sudden turn of events but looked on with resignation as the other two gathered their things together. Booth withdrew several bills from his wallet and laid them on the table.

"I'm sorry," he said again, adding a kiss to Catherine's cheek before he stood up. "I'll make it up to you, I promise."

"I will hold you to that," she smiled back.

"I'll see Dr. Bryar home, Agent Booth." Hacker rose when Brennan did. "You two just go make the Bureau look good."

Before Brennan could go off on a tangent about what her job actually entailed, Booth clipped his hand around her elbow and led her away from the table. "Yes, sir. Thank you." After another apologetic smile at Catherine, he herded Brennan toward the door.

"You and me, Bones," Booth's irritated tone was audible in his wake, "we're going to have a talk about appropriate dinner conversation."

"Is this about your semen?" she asked as they turned the corner. "I thought you were proud that you have such a high sperm count . . ."

At the table, there was a moment of uncomfortable silence as Brennan's voice faded away.

Hacker cleared his throat quietly before he caught Catherine's eye.

"They're just partners," he told her.

She looked toward the empty doorway. "Just partners," she repeated with a skeptical lift of one eyebrow.

He refilled their wine glasses with a sigh. "Yea . . . just partners."

.

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><p>.<p>

**Yea, they're just partners. That's the ticket . . . just partners. :-D**

**To those of you who celebrate the holidays, Merry Christmas! If you don't, well, the stores will be open again tomorrow. :-)  
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**Thanks for reading!  
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	34. Eviction Notice

**AN: I want to wish a very special Happy Birthday! to Lisa, aka Caprigirl60. Not only did she send me a HUGE box of homemade Christmas cookies of every type imaginable (which I do not feel at all guilty for refusing to share with anyone else), but we have sons about the same age, my daughter is also a "Lisa" and I've learned from Twitter conversations that we agree about a lot of the same stuff we disagree with (a concept that totally makes sense to me). Also, her reviews are epic, especially when she doesn't like something I did. Seriously, I live in fear of disappointing her. (If Harland were real, he'd be terrified of her. :-D)  
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**For this birthday present fic, she had a very specific idea: _Sweets being told that NOW he has overstayed his welcome & he needs to get his own place... ASAP_**

**For purposes of continuity, let's set this one-shot a few days after the events of "A Hasty Exit" (Chapter 32 in this collection). **

**Lisa, Happy Birthday! I hope you enjoy being a day older than your twin until midnight! :-D  
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Sweets jumped in his chair as the door to his office was thrown open with such force, it bounced off the opposite wall. In front of him stood Booth, fury pouring from him in waves that were almost visible.

He stood up, careful to keep the width of his desk safely between them. "Agent Booth . . . is there something I can -" A plastic grocery bag flew across the room and landed with a metallic clatter on the file he'd just been reading.

"Do you know what that is?" Booth's voice was a lethally angry burr.

Using a pen to spread the bag open, Sweets peered inside. Dread formed a hard knot somewhere around his stomach.

"Uh . . . it's . . . it's it's it's . . . a pie plate."

"And what's in it?" Booth hissed.

The younger man looked at the smear of red filling and shreds of crust clinging to the sides. "Nothing. It's - it's - it's empty." He swallowed visibly.

Booth put his hands on Sweets desk and leaned across it until the two men were barely inches apart. "Yes," he bit out. "It is."

Sweets tried to smile. "Oh . . . did - did you want that last piece? Because there wasn't a note or -"

"IT'S ASSUMED!" Booth yelled, his dark eyes snapping with fire. "It's assumed! My house." One finger tapped the desk. "My refrigerator!" Another tap. "My pie!" A third tap.

"Of course . . . of course . . . " Sweets nodded quickly. "You're absolutely correct. Next time -"

"No!" Booth straightened to his full height, shook his head and added a grin that would not have been out of place on the devil himself. "Oh, no. There will not be a _next __time__._ You, kid, are OUT." He jerked his thumb backward, over his shoulder. "O. U. T." Each letter came out in a crisp staccato cadence as he smugly crossed his arms over his chest. "Out."

Sweets' jaw dropped. "Because of the pie? I'll buy you another one -"

"No, not because of the pie!" Booth responded, exasperated. "I said a few days!" he reminded Sweets, "When I said you could stay with us, I thought maybe a couple of weeks. You've been there so long, Bones is ready to adopt you!" Booth's hands waved wildly. "I'm surprised she hasn't asked me to build you an apartment over the garage!"

Sweets considered the idea. "Well, I'd pay you rent -" One look at Booth's expression cut off that thought. "Not that I would expect . . . I can see why that wouldn't -"

"I want my house back." Once more, Booth loomed threateningly across the desk. "If I want to walk around in my underwear, I don't want you looking at me!"

"Because of the superhero ones? I think they're kind of cute -" Booth's eyes narrowed. "No, I don't," Sweets gulped. "I don't think of them at all," he quickly amended.

"And," his furious temporary host hissed, "I'm tired of dodging you every time we want a little private time outside our bedroom!"

"What is it about the laundry room?" Sweets asked, genuinely curious. "It can't be very comfortable to have sex -" He backed up a step, sure that Booth was going to jump across the desk. "Of course, that's none of my business. Obviously."

Booth's teeth ground together audibly. "I haven't even mentioned what happened last week." His voice lowered. "You're lucky I let you back in the house at all."

"Well, you know," Sweets tried for a laugh and failed. "You and Dr. Brennan both had your backs to me so I couldn't really -"

Booth came around the desk after him.

Sweets grabbed his chair and used it like a shield.

"I didn't see anything," he yelled as he dodged Booth's long arms. "I . . . it's . . . the whole thing . . . wiped completely from my memory . . ." he insisted loudly. "I don't even know what day it was . . . can't remember anything . . ."

"Bones is leaving for Chicago tomorrow." Booth backed him into a corner and held him prisoner there, with only a fragile chair on wheels separating them. "She'll be gone for three days. You," one hard finger poked into Sweets' chest, "will be gone when she gets back. Understand?"

Sweets nodded without speaking.

Booth sent one more silent warning steaming from brown eyes that flamed almost red before he pivoted on one foot and headed back to the door. He grabbed the plastic bag from the desk as he passed.

"Don't forget to stop at the bakery on your way home tonight."

Sweets didn't take an easy breath until he heard the outer door close safely behind Booth. Still keeping a wary eye trained on his own doorway, he pushed his chair back to its usual spot and sat down with relief.

"Three days," he muttered as he turned to his computer and began a search for apartment listings. The sound of desk drawer slamming nearby closed caused him to jolt visibly. He shook his head. "Better make it two."

.

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><p><strong>Awwww, poor Baby Duck. It's his own fault, though. Never mess with another man's pie. :-D<strong>

**Again, happy birthday, Lisa!  
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**And thank you for reading.  
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	35. A Teaching Moment

**Happy _Bones-_day!  
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**This is another response for the "And that's why" Fanfic Challenge at _Bonesology_. Every story has to start with the line _"this might burn a little"_ and end with one of six different phrases. Go check them, and the rest of the board, out! **

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"This might burn a little."

The nurse's softly spoken warning was lost in the sound that blared from Brennan's phone. Other than a glance toward her bag, she ignored it.

Two minutes later, it rang again.

When that call also went unanswered, there was an immediate tone indicating a text message.

Finn, sitting at the end of another examining table while a different nurse swabbed a scrape on his arm, watched his mentor carefully.

"Should I apologize for calling Dr. Saroyan?" His tone was somewhat unsure when he finally spoke. "I thought she should know -"

"There is no need to apologize, Mr. Abernathy," Brennan answered as she kept a careful eye on the stitches being put into her forearm. "Dr. Saroyan is in charge of the lab, therefore your decision to inform her of the situation was a rational one."

Her phone beeped again.

From the corner of his eye, Finn looked at the canvas bag and then at Brennan. "I didn't tell her to call Agent Booth," he rushed out. "Just -" Her phone chirped again. " . . . so you know."

The nurse smoothed antibiotic ointment over the stitches and then covered the entire wound with a square bandage before moving on to the scratches on her forehead. Another loud chirp came from her phone. "I'm sure Dr. Saroyan did what she felt was best."

Finn blew on the antiseptic that had been applied to his injury in an attempt to cool the sting. "I've never been in the middle of a battle before." He looked up with a smile. "I have to say, Dr. Brennan, I was mighty impressed with how well you kept your cool."

"That was not a battle, Mr. Abernathy," she corrected him. "Neither the gunfire nor the cannon balls were real. It was mostly noise and smoke."

"And people," he added. "I thought we were going to be trampled."

Brennan nodded. "That would have been unfortunate. The scene would have been completely compromised."

He looked at her sideways. "Yea, that's what I was worried about - the scene." They were silent for a few minutes as the medical personnel continued to work before another ring echoed through the room. "Are you going to answer that?"

She heaved a deep sigh. "I suppose I should." The nurse attending her stepped back; Brennan hopped down from the table and dug her phone out.

"Brennan -"  
>"We're fine -"<br>"My arm was being stitched -"  
>"Only four -"<br>"We didn't -"  
>"No, the GPS -"<br>"I was concerned about the scene -"  
>"Well, yes -"<br>"I should have realized the significance of the date. July 21 was -"  
>"I agree. Next time -"<br>"You can't know that, Booth."  
>"I didn't -"<br>"I had to stay until the remains -"  
>"It wasn't bleeding that badly -"<br>"Only four -"  
>"Yes, we're going to head back as soon as -"<br>"I will."  
>"No, I can't promise that -"<br>"Booth!"  
>"I love you, too."<p>

She dropped the phone on top of her bag and sent a somewhat sheepish look at Finn. "Booth is somewhat unhappy that we were involved in an incident."

He lowered his head to hide a smile. "Yes, ma'am."

"Of course we didn't place ourselves there intentionally," she continued, pacing restlessly as the rest of Finn's injuries were attended to. "That's where the remains were found."

"Yes, ma'am."

"But we couldn't leave it there to be compromised or destroyed, regardless of the risk to our own persons."

"No, ma'am."

Brennan abruptly stopped in front of him. "Perhaps this will be a learning experience, Mr. Abernathy. That's why you never drive through a Civil War re-enactment."

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><p><strong>It's <em>Bones<em>-day, Pelant is back, the promos for the episode look fabulous and I made brownies last night. All in all, today is shaping up to be pretty awesome. **

**Thanks for reading!  
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**(p.s. If you're interested, the first chapter of a story I'm writing for Alanna is up at the website Bones Gambler's Anonymous. It's a _Bones/In Death_ crossover and because of FFN's prohibition against Nora Roberts fanfic, it's not being posted here. You can follow along over there, though.)  
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	36. Girls' Night Out

**AN: One more OS for the "And That's Why" fanfic challenge at Bonesology. For this one, I decided to follow up on one of the first challenges I responded to not long after I started writing fanfiction. You'll find that story as Chapter 2:_ The Question_ under _"It's Just Lunch."_ (Link: s/7352978/2/It-s-Just-Lunch) The ladies at Bonesology are really good with these challenges, aren't they? It's always fun to read the stories people can create from just one line.**

**(Warning: neither Booth nor Brennan appear in this chapter.)**

**Still reading? Here we go!**

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"This might burn a little."

"A little?!" Hissing in pain, the tiny old lady jerked her injured arm out of the EMT's hand. "What are you using, battery acid?"

"Granny, please," Gabby pleaded. "Let the nice man look at the scratch." A slim, petite woman with a choppy mop of dark hair and square, black-rimmed glasses, the resemblance between the two women, even with the disparity in age, was obvious.

"I'm 92 years old," the old woman grumbled at her great-granddaughter. "Don't talk to me like I'm five, Gabriella."

"I'm just trying to -"

"Excuse me?" After exchanging a few words with the departing EMT, a surly police officer intruded into the small changing room at the back of the club. "If I could get a statement?" The heavy bass beat of the music out front vibrated the floor beneath their feet.

"I'll give you a statement!" Granny harrumphed. "That pervert rubbed his stiffy against me! He got what he -"

"No, I didn't - I did not!" The establishment's manager stuck his head in the doorway and sputtered his denial. A light flickering in the narrow hallway picked up the sheen of oil in his slicked-back hair. "I was just trying to -"

"I'm 86 years old!" Granny yelled. "I think I know a stiffy when I feel one!"

Angela nudged Roxie with her shoulder. "I thought she said she was 92?"

Roxie's answer was a confused lift of one slender shoulder.

"You're crazy, lady! Why would I -"

"Pervert!" Granny shouted. She picked up the walking stick leaning against the arm of her hair and brandished it threateningly. "Come near me again and I'll crack your nuts next time!"

"Granny!" Aghast, Gabby tried to intervene again.

"I'm pressing charges!" the manager poked the police officer with one finger. "You hear her? I'm pressing charges!"

"You're the one who needs to be arrested, pervert!" She tried to stand but gave up after several attempts. One hand waived disdainfully in his direction. "Look at him, they only sell suits that shiny at the pervert store. Pervert!"

"I paid $3,000 for this suit!" The insult to his suit was too much to bear.

"Well, that just makes you a stupid pervert." Granny crossed her arms triumphantly as she delivered the insult.

"Oh, God." Gabby covered her eyes with one hand.

"You crazy bi- !"

"Hey!" Roxie raised her voice immediately. "Don't you call her a -"

"EVERYBODY SHUT UP!" The police officer had had enough. "Now," he ground out when the room fell silent. "Who's gonna tell me what happened?" His pen tapped impatiently on the notebook in his hands.

Angela stepped into the beat of silence that followed. "It's all a silly misunderstanding," she said, adding a charming smile to her words. "The four of us," The vague circle she drew covered the four women, "are just having a night out to celebrate their wedding tomorrow." She smiled at Roxie and Gabby. "Sort of a bachelorette party, but very low-key."

The officer grunted as he made notes. "Low-key parties don't involve the police. Who's getting married?"

"We are." Roxie and Gabby spoke at the same time, then gave their names one by one.

"Are the grooms out there, too?" He kept writing.

"No grooms," Roxie answered. "We're marrying each other."

That got his attention again; when he looked up, his eyes went from one to the other.

_Thwack!_

"Stop thinking about them having sex!" Granny struck him again with the walking stick. "Pervert!"

The officer cursed and hopped on one foot as Roxie and Gabby gasped in shock. Angela turned away and tried not to laugh out loud.

"Granny!" Gabby reached for the cane. "Give me that! You can't keep hitting people!"

"See? See?" The club's manager pointed at the old woman. "See how she is? Arrest her!"

"No!" Gabby pleaded with the officer. "She won't do it again, I promise. Will you, Granny?" The expression on her face warned her great-grandmother that she better agree.

Disgruntled, the silver head turned away. "I guess not, since you took my stick."

"Anyway," Angela fought to continue without bursting into laughter, "we had dinner at the place around the corner, Bella D'Italia -"

"Tony Two Tone got whacked there in '46," Granny interjected. When she noticed the group staring down at her, she shrugged. "What? They repainted."

Roxie hurried to pick up the story. "It was just a whim, really, that we came in here. We didn't plan -"

Granny let out one harsh bark. "You would have thought I'd never seen a strip club before. I was a dancer, you know," she informed the police officer, "back in the 50s." She jeered at the club manager. "That's when we really danced, not like that crap you have out there now."

He stuck out his jaw. "My girls are -"

"Tramps and whores wiggling their ass with no style!" Granny interrupted. Gabby hid her face in Roxie's shoulder. "Plastic tits and a pole don't make you a dancer."

"Granny, please . . . "

"See? Hear that?" The manager yelled and pointed. "That's what she was yelling at my girls! Arrest her!"

"You can't arrest me for telling the truth," she shot back belligerently. "Arrest him! He rubbed his stiffy on my backside!"

"I did not!" The manager's voice was high and shrill. "I was trying to get you to leave -"

"Don't tell me what I felt!" Granny argued. "I'm 75 years old, that's not the first stiffy I've -"

"GRANNY!" Gabby was red with mortification. "Can we just take her home?" she pleaded with the officer. "Please? I promise we'll get right into a cab and go straight home."

He rubbed at his bruised knee. "She doesn't get that cane back until she's out of here," he ordered.

"You're letting her go?" The manager was apoplectic. "After the disturbance she caused! I want her arrested!"

"If I arrest her," the officer warned, "it's going in my report that you felt up an old lady, pal."

"I didn't - she's -" The oily head practically spun on his shoulders. "Never mind," he muttered before he pointed at each of the four women. "You're all banned! I don't want to ever see you in my club again!"

Helped to her feet, standing somewhat tentatively between Roxie and Angela, Granny reached out to Gabby.

"Give me my stick, Gabriella," she demanded querulously. "I'm going to hit him again."

The other three women immediately disabused her of that notion and led her faltering steps out the back door and around to the street. Angela crossed to the curb and flagged down a passing cab.

When they were all seated, Granny in the front next to the driver, Angela's unrestrained laughter filled the space. Roxie soon found herself joining in and finally, even Gabby couldn't help but smile.

Granny turned around. "What's so funny?"

Angela reached over and laid a hand on the old woman's shoulder. "This was the most fun I've had at a bachelorette party in years!"

"Hah." The silver head faced the road again. "You must have some pretty boring friends."

Gabby laid her head on Roxie's shoulder and sighed. "Well, let's face it, we weren't getting in the Weddings & Celebrations section, anyway."

Angela gasped theatrically. "But that would be great! You have to write this up!"

"No, Ange . . ." Roxie shook her head. "This was a disaster. We are not writing it up and submitting it to the New York Times."

"Why not?" Granny turned around again. "It's funnier than that stuffy, yuppie crap they usually print."

"You're joking, right?" Gabby sat up. "I could never -"

"I'll do it, then." Granny sat back and considered. "I'll have to dress it up a little, though, since no one actually got arrested."

"Dress it up?" The three women in the back seat look at each other in wonder.

"Sure." The faded blue eyes narrowed in thought. "The story needs a hook, to get their attention."

"Granny -" Gabby tried to rein in her great-grandmother's enthusiasm.

"I'll mention Bella D'Italia, too. They could use the publicity." The younger women could almost see the wheels turning as the mostly-still sharp mind worked over the idea.

"No, really, Granny." Gabby leaned closer. "Let's just leave it alone -"

"No one can resist a good grandmother-thrown-out-of-a-bar story."

"It was a strip club and you almost got arrested!"

"Exactly!" The wrinkled and creased face broke into a wide smile. "You're a shoe-in, Gabby. I know just how to end it .. . .

_And that's why Great Grandma was bounced from the strip club covered in spaghetti with a titanium spork in her mouth."_

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><p><strong>"Justified" has been full of Art and his Marshal stiffy lately and I laugh every time I hear it. I couldn't resist a chance to use it myself. <strong>

**Thanks for reading!  
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**(p.s. To whomever left that intolerant, homophobic review to "Everything is Fine" (anonymously, of course), you may consider this my response. Also, fuck you.)  
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	37. For Scientific Purposes

**AN: One more little fic for the _Bonesology_ "And that's why..." fanfic challenge. **

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"This might burn a little."

Hodgins passed a pair of protective goggles to Fisher. After a moment's pause, he added a face mask. "Probably better wear this, too." After watching the intern don the protective gear, he opened the valve on a blowtorch and bent over the metal shards in front of them. "See, what I'm trying to do is -"

"Dr. Hodgins!" Cam marched through the door of the Ookey room and waved a thin sheaf of paper in his direction. "What is this?"

With an impatient grimace, he switched off the blowtorch and lifted the visor of his headgear. "What is what?"

She shoved the papers toward him. "How am I going to explain this to the board?"

Hodgins took the sheets from her hand and skimmed them quickly. "Oh, that," he nodded. "Yea, that was from the case last month. The body found in the warehouse in Baltimore, remember?"

"Five cartons?" Cam's eyes widened as he returned the material. "You needed five cartons?"

"You approved the experiment," he reminded her. His hand moved to lower the clear protective visor again as he and Fisher turned back to the tray of fragments glinting silver in the bright light of the overhead.

"Dr. Hodgins!" Cam tapped one foot impatiently. "You need to be more frugal! Unless you plan on reimbursing the Jeffersonian - Oh, wait," she added pointedly. "You lost all of your money. You can't afford to reimburse the lab."

Fisher pulled his face mask down and frowned. "I thought Dr. Hodgins' money was stolen?" He looked at Hodgins. "I heard Pelant made you choose between keeping your money and saving some schoolgirls?"

A faint blush warmed the smooth honey of Cam's complexion. "Yes, well," she muttered, "that's what I said."

Fisher shook his head. "Not really."

"That's not the point." She changed the subject abruptly. "How am I going to explain this?"

Hodgins shrugged. "It's simple. The body was covered in a substance that contained menthyl lactate, benzoic acid and sodium hydroxide. The most common use of the combination of those ingredients is in sexual lubricant."

"So when the board looks at this invoice and wants to know if we're sponsoring orgies in here -"

Hodgins flipped his visor down and turned his back to her as he once again opened the valve of the blowtorch. His raised his voice in order to be heard over the hiss of the flame. "You can tell them I was trying to recreate the condition of the body as it was found. And that's why I needed to buy the KY Yours + Mine in bulk."

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><p><em><strong>Yea, Cam pissed me off in Monday night's episode. But then, what else is new, right?<strong>_

_**Thanks for reading!  
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	38. 50 Words50 Sentences: Booth and Hodgins

_Written for the "50 Words/50 Phrases" fanfic challenge at Bonesology. You should go there to read all of the rules but basically, you choose two characters, take the list already given of 50 words and write one sentence for each word (five words can be up to five sentences) and each sentence should be a self-contained idea. Trust me, it's more difficult than it sounds._

_Words marked with an asterisk use more than one sentence and the words are bolded where used in the sentence. _

_Some of these will become one-shots. I already have a few ideas in mind but feel free to drop me a note if you have any favorites!_

_(I didn't write "Hodgins and Booth" every time because sometimes, the names didn't fit within the structure of the sentence. You should assume they're talking to each other, even if the name is absent.) _

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**BOOTH/HODGINS:**

*1. Heat

"Be still!" Hodgins ordered as Booth tried to sit up. "The **heat **will draw the poison out."

2. Telephone

Booth and Hodgins froze, panic visible on their faces as they stared at the ringing **telephone**.

3. Review

"I was misquoted in that **review**!" Hodgins insisted as Booth loomed over him.

4. Snow

"And this one time in Montreal," Hodgins grinned at Booth, "it was just me and a Swedish bikini model, with four feet of **snow **outside."

5. War

"This," Booth promised, leaning threateningly over Hodgins, "means **war**."

6. Lunch

"Hey!" Booth exclaimed, "I'm eating **lunch **here!"

7. Time

The same thought occurred to both men . . . where had the **time **gone?

8. Boycott

"What are you going to do, **boycott **it?" Hodgins laughed.

9. Eyes

They counted to three, closed their **eyes **and stepped out.

10. August

Oblivious to the children creeping up behind them, the two men snoozed in the hot **August **sun.

*11. Bake

"I say we go old school," Hodgins shrugged. "**Bake** a cake with a file in it."

12. Bones

"How would you like it if I called Brennan **'Bones'**?" Hodgins asked Booth pointedly.

13. Pajamas

"Men do not buy other men **pajamas **for Christmas," Booth insisted to Hodgins.

14. Crashed

"I didn't think it would be a big deal if she **crashed **at our place," Hodgins explained to Booth.

15. Foreign Film

"The last time we let them decide," Booth argued with Hodgins, "we ended up at a **foreign film** festival."

16. Life

"Because that's what makes **life **worth living?" Hodgins guessed shrewdly, his eyes on Booth.

17. Tradition

It had become a **tradition **and despite their yearly protestations, neither Hodgins nor Booth ever really considered ending it.

18. Sales

"Yea, well, shoe **sales **don't distract Bones," Booth grumbled.

19. Birds

"I warned you about the **birds**," Booth laughed, as Hodgins stomped over to his car.

20. Inhale

"Yea, sure," Hodgins winked, "you didn't **inhale**."

21. Truth

Arms crossed in identical poses, Booth and Hodgins stared the culprits down, and waited for the **truth**.

22. Traveling

"That's not my idea of **traveling**," Booth grumbled, with a grimace that blamed Hodgins for the entire fiasco.

23. Mother

"Angie's **mother **would have loved me!" Hodgins insisted loudly.

24. Recipe

It was a **recipe **for disaster, and both Booth and Hodgins knew it.

25. River

Without hesitation, they jumped into the **river** after it.

26. Scared

"No," Hodgins shook his head, "I'm more **scared **of Brennan."

27. Leaves

**Leaves **crunched underfoot as Hodgins and Booth tramped through the woods.

28. Free

"Bathroom's **free**!" Hodgins yelled into the living room.

29. Newspaper

"I'm telling you, man," Hodgins insisted somewhat unsteadily as he watched Booth fill their glasses again, "it was in the **newspaper**!"

30. Walk

"Let's take a **walk**," Hodgins suggested, jerking his head toward the doorway when he caught Booth's eye.

31. Apricot

"Never again," Booth vowed, holding his head in his hands as he looked up at Hodgins blearily, "am I drinking your homemade **apricot **brandy."

32. Disgusting

"That," Booth pointed at the jar in Hodgins' hands, "is **disgusting**."

33. Frost

Teeth chattering, they woke up to find **frost **coating the tent.

*34. Stars

Hodgins looked over Booth's shoulder. "Needs more **stars**," he advised.

35. Feed

"Is it **feed **a cold, starve a fever or the other way around?" Booth asked Hodgins.

36. Siblings

"I often wished I had **siblings **when I was growing up," Hodgins admitted to Booth, as the two men stood watching from the window.

37. Fantasy

"In what kind of **fantasy **world are you living?" Booth asked Hodgins incredulously.

38. Airport

"If we're not at the **airport **by 6:00pm, we'll miss our plane," Booth insisted.

39. Music

Booth could barely hear Hodgins over the **music **throbbing from the speakers.

40. Mail

"Beats sending it through the **mail**," Hodgins shrugged.

*41. Love

"What can I say?" Hodgins laughed. "I'm **love**'s bitch, baby."

42. Sunday

When **Sunday **arrived, Booth and Hodgins were ready.

43. Fog

Until the **fog **rolled out, they were stuck.

*44. Slow

"Slow! I said slow!" Booth yelled at Hodgins. "What part of slow didn't you understand!"

45. Dollar

"Yea, well," Hodgins grumbled to Booth, "if I had a **dollar **forevery time I heard that, I'd be rich again."

46. Ants

"You're about as welcome as **ants **at a picnic," Booth snapped at Hodgins.

47. China

"When is Brennan due back from **China**?" Hodgins asked Booth.

48. Morning

His "good **morning**" lost in a loud yawn, Booth slid the coffee pot across the table to Hodgins.

49. Emergency

"I wouldn't ask if it weren't an **emergency**, man," Hodgins insisted to Booth.

50. Baby

"Would you rather I called you **'baby'**?" Hodgins teased, enjoying Booth's discomfort.

.

.

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><p><em>What? I slipped in a little bit of Spike there? <em>

_Yes. Yes, I did._

_Thanks for reading!_


	39. Every Moment A Memory

_According to my profile on FFN, I started writing fanfiction two years ago today (June 13). My first story was _The Finding in the Losing_ - because who didn't write about the night of VNM's death, right? I have a few stories I'm really proud of (_Unseen, Once Upon a Summer, Rum Punch and Steel Drums)_ and a couple of personal favorites _(On the Run_, even with the errors, and a few individual chapters from different OS collections).  
><em>

_But mostly, I'm happy that I discovered a TV show that stimulated my imagination so much that I wanted to explore it more. My opinion of current episodes notwithstanding, the first seven seasons of _Bones_ were magic, and I owe HH&Co. a big thank you for stirring up so many creative juices. They created the characters I fell in love with and I've had a lot of fun playing in their sandbox._

_I thought I would celebrate my little milestone by giving Booth and Brennan an anniversary, too. :-)_

_._

_._

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><p><em>.<em>

The first bouquet arrived at 8:15 a.m., only moments after she had. Angela was right behind the florist.

"Oh my God, Brennan, this is gorgeous!" Her fingertips trailed lightly over a spray of greenery as she bent to inhale the fragrance of the huge arrangement. "Is it from Booth? What's the occasion?"

"I have no idea, on either count." Brennan reached for the large envelope that accompanied the flowers. "We're not celebrating anything."

Inside the envelope was a brochure from American University. A yellow Post-It was stuck to the front and written there in Booth's heavy scrawl were the words, _"You wore red."_

"_You wore red_," Angela repeated curiously. "What does that mean? You wore red to what?"

Brennan pulled a face as she turned the brochure over. "I don't know. I haven't taught at American for several years-" She gasped, her eyes wide. "I was lecturing there when Booth and I met." With a few quick steps she was at her desk and had her calendar open to confirm the date. "Yes, that was twenty years ago today."

"Did you wear red that day?"

"I don't recall," Brennan admitted.

"Well, you must have," Angela decided. "That's so sweet! I can't believe he remembered!"

Brennan's phone was in her hand; she smiled at Angela as she listened to it ring on the other end. "Nor I. We've never specifically recognized this date before . . ." She frowned as her call went immediately to voicemail and held up one finger to silence Angela while she left a message. "The flowers are lovely, Booth, thank you. Please call me back. I love you. Goodbye."

"Well, I'm definitely impressed," Angela announced. "You know, I have to start hinting to Hodgins six months before-"

A knock on the door interrupted her. Still wearing his helmet, a bicycle messenger looked expectantly into the office. "Dr. Temperance Brennan?" On Brennan's nod, he pulled a letter-sized envelope out of his backpack and handed it over. When she'd signed the receipt, he smiled and left.

Inside the envelope, a bright shiny new penny was taped to an index card. _Remember Careful Lionel?_

"Careful Lionel?" Angela asked as she read over Brennan's shoulder.

Brennan ran her thumb across the penny. "He's referring to the Christmas we spent quarantined in the lab."

Angela's face was blank for a few seconds before memory stirred. "Oh! Oh, right! Wow, that was a long time ago!" She looked from the flowers to the card in Brennan's hand. "Do you think he's going to do this all day long?"

Brennan could only shrug. "I don't know."

That was Booth's plan, and before the morning was over everyone in the lab knew that Booth and Brennan had met on that day, twenty years previously. At random intervals, a messenger would appear with a small box or another envelope and each time, a small crowd gathered to see what Booth had sent and to hear the story behind it.

Some items were self-explanatory, like the tiny pink sock, the small blue infant's cap and the guitar pick bearing the logo of Parker's band.

Others were more cryptic.

There was a toy sailboat, with a note attached. _I'm so glad you didn't go._

A matchbook from a long-closed bar, The Checker Box. _You were on the list!_

A tiny globe. _We took the long way to find each other, didn't we?_

A photo of Vincent Nigel-Murray arrived at noon and was passed from hand to hand, remembered sorrow lightened by laughter and bits of random trivia.

In the late afternoon she opened a box to find a large conch shell with three circular holes drilled into the side. She examined it carefully and then shrugged. "My father gave me one of these years ago but I don't know what memory Booth associates with it."

Some items, however, Brennan refused to explain. When she pulled a long, sheer red scarf from a padded envelope, her cheeks bloomed pink but she remained silent as she quickly stuffed it away again and ignored Angela's cajoling pleading.

By the end of the day she was surrounded by artifacts representing twenty years, and awash with memories. When she looked up to see him leaning casually against the frame of her office door, his love for her obvious in the tender smile that graced his still ruggedly handsome face, she was overcome.

"You-" She struggled with tears as she went to him, and allowed them to fall freely when he wrapped her up close against the warmth of his chest. "How long have you been planning this?" she sniffed, when she could speak again.

"About twenty years," he murmured before he took her lips in a kiss that had her standing on tiptoe, arms around his neck, fitting her body as close to his as their clothing would allow.

"You asked me if I believed in fate," she whispered when his head finally lifted.

"And you said no." They might have been alone, for all the notice they took of the busy workplace closing down for the night around them.

"Ask me again," she said, just before she made speech impossible by pressing against the length of him with a kiss that stole his breath away.

When they were both panting and trembling with need for each other, Booth rested his forehead against hers and laughed.

"I knew you had a steep learning curve."

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

_You know that thing writers say about "I write for myself" etc etc etc? Well, that's a lie. If we only wrote for ourselves, we'd all have secret diaries locked away in a drawer somewhere. We write because we enjoy knowing you are on the other side of the screen, sharing the world we're building._

_So, thank you for reading and sharing my B&B world for two years. Here's hoping for at least that many more, and the stories to fill it up! _


	40. Comrades in Arms

_Written for the Bitesized Bones Comment Ficathon at Bones Gamblers Anonymous. _TemperTemper _prompted: "Caroline/Max, Founding Fathers, alcohol!" _

_What's not to love about Caroline and Max? :-)_

_._

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><p>.<p>

She pushed her way inside the Founding Fathers by throwing open both doors, the obvious cloud of anger and frustration that surrounded her giving depth to the impression of a ship under full sail when she stalked her way to the bar. "Whiskey," Caroline ordered, as she slapped the thick leather portfolio she held onto the polished surface. "Leave the bottle."

"Bad day at the office, dear?" She turned at the sound of the teasing voice just behind her and glared.

"I am not in the mood, Max Keenan," she snapped. She gave the same look to the bartender when he slid a heavy tumbler of amber liquid over to her; without a word, the young man tipped the bottle over the glass and filled it higher. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

"Waiting for Tempe." Undeterred, Max slipped onto the bar stool beside her and motioned for another drink himself. "She's late - wanna keep me company?"

The twinkle in his eye would have been irresistible but Caroline never saw it. She sneered in his general direction, downed her drink in three swallows and tapped her glass as a signal for another, muttering to herself the whole time. Max grinned when random phrases involving perjury and a year of hard work caught his ear.

"Ah," he nodded, his tone rife with false sympathy. "Lost one, huh?"

"No, I did not!" She looked at him then, as the words shot out of her. She tipped back another glass of whiskey and plunked the empty crystal back on the bar. "Before I ever stand in front of a jury, I know I've won my case." When he glanced pointedly at the glass in front of her she shrugged. "I'm experiencing a temporary setback, that's all." One brow rose high as she stated each word precisely. "And I am perturbed." She gave a loud sniff. "I don't lose."

"Well," he couldn't resist reminding her, "you lost mine." He reached for the bottle the bartender had conveniently left for them.

Caroline was outraged. "I had you tied up with a pretty red bow," she informed him smartly. "If there was justice in this world you'd be pounding out license plates at this very minute!" She picked up the drink he'd just refilled for her and pointed it at him. "You should be thanking your lucky stars for that genius who sprang from your loins. She's the only reason you're sitting here right now." The hand with the glass waved a vague pattern in the air in front of him. "Looking all . . . all suave and . . . and not in jail." She sipped deeply. "Where you belong."

"Awww, Caroline." Max was enjoying himself. "Can't we forgive and forget? Be friends?"

"You know what I still can't get over?" The empty tumbler hit the bar again with a thump. "Booth. He knew your girl didn't kill Kirby and he sat up there and threw her under the bus - and my case with it!" She looked from her glass to the bottle of whiskey to Max, until he got the point and hurried to pour her another drink. "That's what's wrong with squints. You can't trust 'em."

"Booth probably wouldn't appreciate being called a squint," Max pointed out with a chuckle.

"Not him," she scoffed. "Dr. Brennan. Still," she said thoughtfully, pausing with the glass halfway to her lips, looking at the rows of bottles behind the bar, "I didn't see that coming. Especially not after that kiss."

Max choked on the swallow he'd just taken. "Kiss? Booth and Tempe kissed?"

Caroline snorted. "Oh, yes, they kissed, cher." She took note of Max's wide, shocked face and shrugged. "I just wanted to rattle 'em, you know?" A casual flick of her hand accompanied the explanation. "They're always making those cow eyes at each other when they think no one's looking. Besides, it was Christmas." She sipped delicately. "I was feeling puckish."

"Tempe never mentioned . . . Really?" Max couldn't quite take it in.

"I put 'em under the mistletoe, thought I'd have a laugh," she nodded. "But let me tell you," Caroline lowered her voice and leaned over with a conspiratorial whisper, "there wasn't anything funny about that kiss. Uh uh!" She emphasized when she straightened. "Next thing I know, they're clenched up so tight, you couldn't fit a snowflake between them."

"No!" Max gasped theatrically.

"Sucked up all the air, right out of the room." Her head dipped with certainty. "I thought we were all going to burst into flames."

"I knew it!" Max splashed more whiskey into their glasses and then tapped hers with his, a wide, celebratory grin stretched across his face. "I knew there was something going on!"

"Damn right." The two of them drank for a few minutes in silence. The bottle between them was now nearly half-empty. Suddenly, Caroline eyed Max with narrowed eyes and beckoned him closer with a raised index finger. "Just between you and me," she whispered, "how'd you get Kirby up on that roof anyway?"

Max sat up with a chuckle. "Now, Ms. Julian," he lifted his hands, palms up, "I'm innocent. Jury said so."

She let out one bark of laughter. "They found you not guilty," she corrected him archly. "They sure as hell never said Max Keenan was innocent."

"Fair point." The flow of whiskey had loosened them both up; glass clinked as he served out more and kept talking. "Well . . . hypothetically speaking, you understand," he winked, "I could tell a few stories."

Caroline swiveled around on the stool and raised her glass. "Hypothetically speaking," she replied, "I'm listening."

.

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><p><em>(FYI, over the next couple of months I'm going to be moving chapters that are set around my B&amp;B family from here to <em>Roots & Wings, _so they're all under the same roof. (I'm not OCD, I just prefer to do everything the same way - all the time.) I apologize in advance for the spam alerts when the move happens. Although I probably won't be able to resist doing some editing, it won't be new content so I'll be sure to make that clear at the beginning.)_

_Thanks for reading!  
><em>


	41. Payback

_(This is a follow-up to Chapter 27: Sweet Nothings)_

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><p><em>.<em>

_._

The letter arrived at mid-morning. It came with the regular mail, in a simple brown harmless looking envelope that bore the return address of a company which, she discovered later, did not exist.

It contained only one sheet of paper. Angela pulled it out, looked at the two words printed there and screamed.

Very loudly.

She immediately had everyone's attention.

"Angie?" Jack hurried over, concern and worry shining from his sky blue eyes. "What is it?"

"Nothing!" She quickly turned her back to the avid audience who had gathered around and stuffed the sheet back inside the envelope. "Nothing at all! I . . . I thought I saw a mouse, that's all!" As she spoke, she edged her way around the platform to the stairs. "Everything's fine!"

"A mouse?" Cam quickly scanned the floor. "Where?"

"We have a rodent infestation?" Brennan removed her gloves with a snap of latex. "That is not acceptable. Dr. Saroyan, I insist you do something about it."

"Me?" Cam frowned at Brennan. "We have regular treatments for pest control, I don't know what you expect me to do -"

"This kind of thing never happened when Dr. Goodman was in charge of the lab," Brennan pointed out sharply.

"Oh, now you think I'm in charge of the lab? I wish someone had told me that I'd been promoted, I would have ordered a cake -"

Satisfied that she was no longer the main topic of conversation, Angela escaped from the platform and ran to her office. She had barely locked the envelope inside a desk drawer when her husband appeared in the doorway.

"A mouse?" His skepticism was obvious. "Since when do you scream at mice?"

She whirled around at the sound of his voice. "It was a big one! I mean," she hedged, "I thought it was but it obviously wasn't, it was probably just a shadow so everything's fine, nothing's wrong, I'm fine!" She ended the nonstop stream of chatter with a wide, bright smile.

None of which convinced Jack Hodgins. "Angie."

She hurried to him and pressed a loud, smacking kiss on his lips. "I'm fine, see? Everything's fine, I'm fine, nothing's wrong." She kissed him again. "I'm fine!"

He eyed her suspiciously. "So what I'm hearing is, you're fine."

"Yes!" And she kissed him again.

"Okay." Obviously still concerned, he headed toward the door. "But you know where to find me if you decide you're not fine, right?"

"I'm fine!" she insisted, and kept her eyes on him until, reluctantly, he left. Then she sank down on her sofa and stared at the back of her desk.

"Oh my God!"

.

.

.

Around 1:30 pm, just as her frazzled nerves were beginning to settle down, a messenger appeared with 2 pink boxes of fresh donuts from a nearby bakery. The fresh pastries drew a crowd to the sitting area on the catwalk above the platform.

"Who do we have to thank for these?" Cam asked as Fisher folded back one cardboard top.

"There wasn't a card," he answered, "but this flyer was between the boxes." The page showed an old fashioned airplane crossing a bright blue sky, trailing a large white banner that read "Your Name Here."

Angela took one look at the picture and choked on the bite of raspberry filling she'd just taken. Before anyone could anticipate her actions, she snatched the flyer from Fisher's hands and raced for the stairs.

"I just remembered . . . There's something important . . ." She gave up trying to explain when she reached the sliding doors. "I'll be back!"

.

.

.

She didn't stop walking until she reached the Hoover FBI Building several blocks away and once there, she ran up four flights of stairs instead of waiting for the elevators.

"I need your help!" Without waiting for an invitation, she barged into Booth's office and closed the door. She was panting and out of breath, both from her speedy walk from The Jeffersonian and from the stress of the morning.

"Angela." Booth put down his pen and sat back in his chair. "What a surprise."

"Yea yea yea." She sat down in front of his desk and leaned in. "Someone is stalking me!"

His eyebrows rose. "Stalking you?" he repeated. "Now, that's a serious accusation. What makes you think someone is stalking you?"

"Because," she shot a furtive glance over her shoulder, just to check that the door was still closed. "I got a letter this morning, and the return address was fake!"

"Oh, no." Booth tsked in worry. "What did the letter say?"

Her voice lowered to a hiss. "My name! That's all! My real name!" One hand waved wildly. "The one no one can ever know! And just a few minutes ago, someone sent donuts! I think it was the same person!"

"Wow." He shook his head. "A letter with your name on it and donuts. Maybe we should talk about protective custody."

"It's not funny," she exclaimed. "Look, this was with the donuts!" She handed over the crumpled flyer, wrinkled now and a bit sweaty from the rough handling it had received on her trip over. "Obviously that's a threat to put my real name on a banner and fly it all over the -"

Booth smiled.

Her mouth dropped open.

"YOU! But . . . but . . . how did you find out . . ." She sputtered with surprise and shock.

He laughed and sat back, triumphantly enjoying the moment. "I'm an FBI agent, Angela. How do you think I found out?"

"You pulled my file?" She was outraged.

"Damn right," he nodded. "And the next time you give Bones some crazy idea," he added, pointing a finger at her in warning, "I'm going to hire that airplane, too!"

"What crazy ideas? I don't -"

"Yes, you do!" Booth stood up, agitated, and paced behind his desk. "That little game you started with the _honeys _and the _darlings_? She bought a book! I have vocabulary words to memorize!"

She couldn't help it; she laughed. "It's actually kinda funny -"

"No, it's not!" he insisted. "I never want to hear _Angela __says_ ever again! Stop it!" He stopped pacing long enough to put both hands on his desk and lean threateningly toward her. "And I haven't even mentioned the . . . the . . . texting thing." He straightened uncomfortably and smoothed his tie down. "You know what I'm talking about."

She blinked innocently. "Oh, you mean waf -"

"Don't!" He cut her off. "Don't say it." He seemed to have difficulty meeting her eyes. "That was way over the line, Ange. Way, way over."

"Hey, I apologized," she reminded him, then ruined it with a giggle. "I even made you both breakfast."

"See?" His finger pointed at her again. "Right there! Right there! That's what I mean! Enough! The next time you want to interfere, just remember - there's an airplane banner out there with your name on it." He smiled grimly. "Your real name."

Angela's foot tapped against the floor. "You wouldn't."

Booth's gaze was steady on hers. "Try me."

She got up with a flounce and opened the door, then stopped on the threshold to look back at him. "You know this isn't over."

"Fine by me . . . Cavatina Thunderbird."

Angela winced and then, with as much dignity as she could muster, spun on one heel and left.

.

.

.

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><p><em>I left myself an opening to write more "Battle of Booth and Angela" stories if inspiration strikes. I think it could be a lot of fun to have the two of them officially trying to one-up each other!<em>

_Cavatina is a musical term and 'Thunderbird' is the name of a song on _Fandango_, a ZZ Top album released in 1975, a few years before Angela would have been born. I thought Cavatina Thunderbird had a nice, Staccato Mambo ring to it. :-D_

_(The "texting thing" Booth alludes to is _160 Characters or Less: Chapt. 16: Leggo My Eggo._) _

_Thanks for reading!_


	42. Genesis

_AN: My friend Cynthia (colourless-aura here on FFN) had a birthday recently and did me the honor of asking for a story to celebrate the occasion. Her prompt was simple: she wanted to see the first time B&B said "I love you." I know that scenario has been written about before by almost everyone but surprisingly enough, I haven't. Also, Cynthia came all the way from Brazil to Nashville and slept on my uncomfortable bunk beds, AND she brought me liquor so . . . . Well, really, how could I refuse? I've done a lot worse for good booze . . . but that's a story for another time. :-)  
><em>

_Cynthia, here you are. As requested, I didn't change anything about "_The Change in the Game_" or "_The Memories in the Shallow Grave_." This little fic just spotlights a moment of time, somewhere in between._

_._

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><p>.<p>

_**In **__**the **__**beginning**__** . . .**_

_**.**_

_**.**_

_"I'm pregnant. You're the father."_

It changed everything.

To be fair, there had been a lot of those life-changing moments over the seven years they'd known each other, starting with the very first time Special Agent Seeley Booth and Dr. Temperance Brennan ever laid eyes on each other. He was a man of faith and she was a woman of science but in that instant, the hand of God lit the fuse of the Universal Big Bang and out of the resulting chaos, something special emerged.

_"I'm pregnant. You're the father."_

For over a month they existed in a bubble of their own making. After watching Vincent Nigel-Murray die, after turning to each other for solace and comfort, after seeing his body returned to a grieving family, they tiptoed carefully . . . tentative and hesitant . . . into a new version of normal. If the first night was flavored with the bittersweet awareness of how fragile life could be, the second was a cautious recreation. After all, one night could be sanitized with the liberal application of emotional upheaval but another . . . Well, a second night meant . . . something.

And a third night was the beginning of a pattern.

.

.

_**Let **__**there **__**be **__**light**__** . . .**_

_**.**_

_**.**_

_"I'm pregnant. You're the father."_

The bubble popped.

Keeping their relationship private wasn't the result of a long conversation in which they discussed the pros and cons of every option. It had just . . . evolved. It was - _they were_ - so new that it felt only natural to be protective, to guard the tender seedling until it could withstand the harsh scrutiny of well-meaning friends.

Angela knew about the change in their relationship, and Booth knew that she knew, but she was also their biggest champion and her happiness over their new status was second only to theirs. Her method of encouraging the path they were _finally _taking was simply to step back and let it happen.

But a baby . . . You can't hide a baby.

Now came the long conversations.

They were loved, like it or not, by friends who considered themselves family. Those friends would have questions and they would ask those questions whether the couple wanted to hear them or not, and so the final, reluctant conclusion was that the only way to avoid days, or weeks, of loving, surprised curiosity would be to get it all over with in one grand, big moment.

Resigned but determined, they gathered everyone together and waited for the right moment.

.

.

_**And**__**, **__**behold**__**, **__**it **__**was **__**very **__**good**__** . . .**_

_**.**_

_**. **_

Drinks and laughter flowed. It wasn't unusual for the group to spend a few hours after work together and if anyone noticed how often Brennan looked at Booth or caught one of the many times Booth smiled at Brennan, well, that wasn't unusual either. The pair was the coupleyest non-couple any of their friends had ever known.

What did get their attention was the ringing clink of the spoon Booth tapped against his glass, and the hand he held out . . . the one Brennan glided over to clasp in hers.

That was new.

So was the moment when Booth dropped her hand and instead, draped his arm around her shoulders.

Angela began to smile. The uncomfortable fullness in her breasts was forgotten, as was the momentary thought of going home to feed her infant son.

"Bones and I have an announcement."

More than one mouth began to drop as assumptions were made. Was this it? Had they finally -

"We're going to have a baby."

No one expected to hear that.

Angela was the first to react, coming out of a state of frozen shock with a squeal that caused every head in the bar to turn. She wrapped her arms around both of them so enthusiastically, their heads clanked together.

"Oh my God! I had no idea! How could you keep this a secret from me? Oh my God! This is wonderful!"

Her unfettered delight released everyone else from the spell of their own surprise. Soon, Booth and Brennan were surrounded by well wishes and congratulations - and questions.

"I had no idea -"  
>"Well, we wanted to -"<br>"How long have you two been -"  
>"A few weeks -"<br>"I can't believe you kept it a secret -"  
>"We thought -"<br>"Did you plan -"  
>"No, but we're happy -"<p>

After one more round of celebratory drinks was passed around, the first noisy burst of attention finally eased. Caroline Julian raised her glass with a smug look of triumph.

"Steamboats," she harrumphed good-naturedly. "Looks like you two have been floating a whole trans-Atlantic cruise ship!"

Brennan looked at Booth. "I don't know what that means."

He laughed, and hugged her into his side.

Watching the two of them, Sweets couldn't resist his own moment of satisfaction. "I knew it!" he cried. "I knew you two were in love with each other!"

Booth's arm stiffened, then dropped. He and Brennan exchanged one short, nervous glance in which their gazes barely met before they dropped away again.

Sweets caught the interplay and frowned. "Wait - what just happened?"

"None of your business, Sweets, okay?'' Booth's jaw hardened as a cloud dimmed his previously rosy glow of happiness. "It's none of your business. You know, it takes time for Bones to -"

"I don't need time," Brennan disagreed quickly. Her eyes were locked on him now.

"You don't?" Booth was cautious, unsure. They were again the cynosure of the entire group but, as so often happened, they had disappeared into a private sphere in which only they existed. "I know it's been quick . . . I don't want you to rush into -"

"No, I'm not rushing into anything," she assured him. She took one step closer and laid a hand on his chest. "I know how I feel." Her fingers closed around a bit of his shirt. "I love you, Booth."

The smile started in his eyes before it spread across his face. He covered the hand she'd laid on his chest with one of his. "I love you, too."

Then they were embracing and lost in a kiss, and the applause that broke out spontaneously went unheard.

Caroline sniffed. "Maybe it's just me, cher," she drawled as she waved one finger toward the kissing couple, "but shouldn't that have come before the baby?"

Max, watching the scene with damp, over-bright eyes, laughed. "I don't know. Since when have they ever done anything the usual way?"

.

.

.

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><p>.<p>

_Cynthia, I hope this is at least a little bit of what you wanted to read. I'm so glad "Bones" introduced us! My bunk beds are here for you anytime! :-)_

_Thanks for reading!_


	43. The Eyes of a Child

_Written __at __the __request __of __someone __who __wishes __to __remain __anonymous__. __I __hope __this __qualifies __as __a__ "__Parker __innocently __reveals __the __truth__" __moment__, __but __I __trust __you __to __demand __a __do__-__over __if __it __doesn__'__t__. *__lol__* __Thanks __for __letting __me __save __it __for __the __right __day__. :-)_

_Set __in __early __Season 6 so, fair warning, Here Be Hannah._

_._

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><p><em>.<em>

"Okay, who's ready to blow out some candles!" Booth's jocular voice preceded his exit from the small kitchen in his apartment. Carefully balanced in both hands was a large platter on which a round, two-layer chocolate cake rested. Two candles making up the number 10 were in the center, surrounded by a circle of exactly ten more.

"Me, me!" Parker's voice was full of excitement as the cake was set down on the table in front of him. "And I want a really big piece!"

Hannah laughed and held out a book of matches. "You heard the man, Seeley. Hurry up so we can cut the cake already!"

Booth made a show of hurrying and was poised over the numbers in the center, lit match in hand, when Parker stopped him.

"Aren't we gonna wait for Bones?"

He froze for a split second. "Uh . . . no. No, buddy, not this time. But she sent you a present," he added quickly, with a jerk of his head toward the stack on the coffee table. "She told me to make sure you got it."

Parker frowned. "She's not coming to my birthday?"

The flame burned down to his fingertips. Booth hissed and blew it out, then tore off a new one. "Well, you know," he hedged as he struck repeatedly at the dark strip on the outside of the book, "this year she thought . . . well, we thought that . . . I was thinking maybe it could just be us and . . . "

"But she always comes to my birthday!" Parker's face turned mutinous. "Can you call her?"

"I -"

Hannah had been watching father and son carefully. "Temperance is usually here?"

"Uhhh . . . yea!" Parker replied as if the answer was obvious. "Always, since I was a little kid. Remember last year, Dad?" He didn't wait for Booth to respond. "I wanted to go to the zoo but Bones doesn't like them so we went to this farm where a friend of hers has horses and I got to ride a pony, all by myself!" In his excitement, Parker rose on the seat on his knees. "And we stopped and had a picnic but then her horse got scared by a rabbit or a fox or something and ran off and then she had to ride in front of Dad all the way back!" Parker laughed uproariously. "Remember Dad? You said if she didn't sit still you were going to make her walk! It was so funny!"

The smile on Hannah's face became stiff. "Yes, I can see that. It must have been very funny."

"Oh, it was," the youth insisted. Booth began to rearrange the plates and forks Hannah had brought from the kitchen and didn't look up. "And when I was eight, she got this big telescope from the lab and -" He stopped and looked at his father. "Was I eight? Or was that when I was seven?"

"The telescope was when you turned eight." He met Hannah's eyes then, his expression wary. He looked away quickly.

"Yea, that's what I thought." Parker was blithely oblivious to the undercurrents that filled the room. "Anyway, she got this telescope and we drove a long, long way and then we set it up in the middle of this field and she showed me all these shapes that the stars make, and then Dad fell asleep but his head was in her lap and she didn't want to wake him up so she let me use it to look anywhere I wanted to and I saw an owl eat a mouse!"

"Wow."

"Yea, it was the coolest birthday ever." He swiped a finger through the icing on the cake and stuck it in his mouth. "So can you call her, Dad?" He looked up expectantly. "I can't have a birthday without Bones."

"Parker, son - "

"I think you should call her," Hannah said quietly. "It sounds like she's part of the family."

"Hannah -"

"Oh, she is," Parker responded brightly, before he jumped down from the chair. "Can I call her, Dad? Where's your phone?"

"On the coffee table . . . Hannah -"

"I'll get another plate."

He stopped her with a touch on her arm as she passed by. "We're just partners, that's all. Just . . . partners."

She shook her head. "The saddest part of this might be that I think you actually believe that." She cupped his cheek with her hand. "We'll talk after the party."

"Okay!" Parker came running back. "She said she'll be here in a few minutes. I told her we'd wait, was that okay?" He looked up at Booth. "We'll wait for Bones, right?"

Booth closed his eyes. When he opened them, Hannah was watching him. She was the one who answered.

"Yes, Parker. I think your father should wait."

.

.

* * *

><p><em>"I can't have a birthday without Bones." :-)<em>

_(FYI, I don't like having Parker call Brennan "Bones" but for the life of me, I couldn't find any episode other than _Santa in the Slush_ where he actually addresses her by name, and in that episode he uses "Bones." For the love of all that's holy, someone *please* tell me I'm wrong and put me out of my misery. I really (really really) don't like him using her nickname.)_

_Thanks for reading!_


	44. Good for the Gander

AN: Written in response to this prompt from kcatlin: _"Remember the Valentines Day episode after Booth broke up with Hannah, and Bones kept getting all those invites to go out? I would love to see the same thing happen a year later with her all pregnant and with Booth."_

Now that sounds like fun, doesn't it? :-)

kcatlin, thank you for sending me the prompt! I hope you enjoy my take on it!

_._

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><p>.<p>

Struggling beneath the weight of yet another box of books, Booth welcomed the ringing coming from the pocket of his jeans as an opportunity to take a break. He dropped the box without regard to the safety of its contents and pulled his phone out.

"Booth."

"_Booth__, __hi__. __It__'__s __Payton __Perotta__."_

"Yea, hey, Perotta."

Wendell approached at that moment, bumped Booth with his shoulder and, with an inquiring look, lifted the box he carried. Booth shrugged. "I don't know. Ask Bones."

"_I__'__m __sorry__, __is__ this __a __bad __time__? __You __sound __busy__."_

"No, no it's fine. What's up?" Brennan came from the direction of the kitchen, a crowbar in hand. She took one look at the burden her intern carried and pointed him upstairs.

"_You__'__re __still __working __with __Dr__. __Brennan__?"_

"Yea. Yea, we are." Booth was only partly paying attention to the conversation; instead he was watching Brennan, who had crossed to a row of crates placed in front of the shelves in the living room. She chose one seemingly at random and began to pry it open.

"_Oh__. __Well__, __anyway__, __I __know __it__'__s __last __minute __but __I__'__m __in __town __and__ -"_

"I heard they'd called you in." Booth interrupted Perotta without realizing it. "Stringfellow wiretapping case, right?"

"_Yes__, __yes__, __that__'__s __it__. __You __heard __about __that__, __huh__?" _

"Uh huh." The surprised pleasure in the other agent's voice went right over Booth's head, focused as he was on what was happening in the other room. Brennan, having finally managed to open the crate she'd been working on, laid the crowbar on top of one of the others and stood considering the empty space on the shelves. Her head turned toward the far end. His eyes narrowed.

"_I __know __tomorrow __is __Valentine__'__s __Day __but __we __gotta __eat__, __right__? __If __you __don__'__t __have __plans __I__ was thinking maybe -"_

"Don't even think about it!" Brennan bent over the open crate and grasped the edges with both hands.

"_Pardon __me__?"_

"Not you," Booth barked into the phone while still glaring across the room at his heavily rounded partner. "Someone just needs to remember she's seven months pregnant." By the time he got to the end of the sentence, he was yelling. "If you want that crate moved, Bones, I'll do it! Just give me a minute!" He ignored the rolling eyes he got in response.

There was a moment of silence on the other end.

"_I__'__m __sorry__ . . . __did __you __just __say __that __Dr__. __Brennan __is __pregnant__?"_

"Yea." Booth cracked his neck and then wearily rubbed the back of it. "We're trying to get moved into the new house before the baby gets here."

"_New house . . . __Is __the __baby __yours__?"_

"Of course it is," Booth frowned at the phone. "Who else would it belong to?" A resigned chuckle floated across the connection from her end. "Anyway, you were saying you needed to see me about something?"

"_You know, that's okay. Never mind. I think I have my answer."_

"You sure? I can come in for a few hours tomorrow if I need to."

"_No__, __no __that__'__s __fine__. __Please __give __Dr__. __Brennan __my __best __wishes __for __a __safe __and __healthy __delivery__." _

"I will, thanks."

"_See __you __around__, __Booth__."_

He tucked the phone back into the pocket of his jeans and approached Brennan. "Now, where did you want this thing?"

She pointed to the last row of shelves. "That was Agent Perotta on the phone?"

"Yea." Booth heaved the crate to his chest. "Something about the Stringfellow case. Not sure why she wanted to see me, I haven't been working on it."

"That is odd."

Twenty minutes later, Booth was in the back of a now almost empty moving van, with Brennan standing in the driveway just outside, when his phone rang again.

"Booth."

"_Seeley."_ The rich voice was warm and feminine, and marked by the faint echo of a British accent. _"It's Allison."_

He tucked the phone between shoulder and ear while he pushed a square cardboard box to the front of the van. Brennan ripped open the tape and peered inside. "Allison who?"

Her laughter was clearly audible outside the phone. Brennan looked up curiously from her perusal of the contents of the box.

"_Allison __Nodini__. __I __know __it__'__s __been __a __couple __of __years __but __I __really __hoped __I __was __more __memorable __than __that__." _

An image surfaced. Red hair, green eyes, large . . . "Oh, right, Allison!" Brennan was now unabashedly listening to the conversation, as the other woman's words were distinct, if a bit tinny. He cleared his throat and gave her a tight smile. "Yea, I remember. You're the flight attendant. US Air, wasn't it?"

Another deep, sexy burst of laughter. _"__American__, __darling__, __but __you __get __an __A __for __effort__. __As it happens__, __I __have __a __layover __in __DC __tonight__, __so __I __was __looking __through __my __little __digital __black __book __and __your __name __just __spoke __to __me__."_

Booth's eyes shot to Brennan. "Uhhh . . . it, it did?"

"_Yes__, __it __did__. __I __always __enjoyed __your__ . . . __company__."_

Brennan watched, fascinated, as he flushed bright red.

"Well . . . thanks."

"_As I said, I have a layover tonight so I thought I'd see if you were still fancy free and willing to help me fill a few hours. We could go out for an early Valentine's dinner, or we could stay at my hotel . . . and order room service. It would be like old times."_

"Um . . ." Booth's hand went to his chest in an automatic gesture to smooth a tie he wasn't wearing. "I . . . you know, that's really . . . but I'm seeing- involved wi - I'm in love with . . . we're having a baby, actually, so . . ." Brennan's gentle touch on the rounded swell of her abdomen caught his attention. His eyes moved up to hers and he smiled. "I'm flattered that you remember me, Allison, but you probably better take me out of that little black book."

"_Ah__, __so __your __warrior__'__s __heart __has __been __stolen __at __last__. __What __a __lucky __woman __she __is__. __Congratulations __on __your __child__, __Seeley__. __I __wish __you __all __the __best__."_

"You, too," he responded sincerely. "Safe travels, Allison." He tucked the phone back in his pocket and hopped down from the truck. "I'm sorry," he told Brennan, his hands at her hips drawing her as close as the presence of their child would permit. "I swear that was way before -"

"There is no need to apologize." Brennan was nonchalant. "I always assumed you had an active, fulfilling sex life."

"The one I have now is much better." His eyes held more than a trace of a leer as he leaned in for a kiss before, laughing, he pulled back. "She kicked me!" One large hand rested on Brennan's stomach, above the gentle nudge. "Have you noticed she always does that when I kiss you?"

Brennan drew his lips back down to hers. "She'll get used to it."

.

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><p><em>Thanks for reading!<em>


	45. Anything for Love

_This is a very (very very) belated birthday present for 1cosmicgirl. It is totally my fault that the writing of this story took as long as it did; she gave me an excellent prompt (a follow-up to the diner scene in S5.06 "The Tough Man in the Tender Chicken") and it just took forever before inspiration hit me on the head._

_Linda, here it is at last - complete with a bit of door leaning, just for you! :-D I hope you like it! _

_._

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><p><em>.<em>

"Thank you for taking me home," Brennan tossed the words over her shoulder as she walked into her office at the lab. "It's not necessary, you know. I could call a taxi."

"Don't worry about it." Booth stopped in the doorway and watched her quick, efficient movements as she gathered together the items she wanted to take with her. "You know, it's sort of my fault you don't have your car, since I picked you up so early this morning. I don't mind dropping you off."

Focused on the file she was reading, her smile was distracted as she responded. "Well, thank you. I appreciate it."

Arms folded over his chest, one foot crossed over the other, he leaned against the frame of the door. "So," he offered, when the silence stretched out. "I'm glad you and Angela are friends again."

"As am I." She grimaced slightly. "Although I still maintain that saving one animal from slaughter is a meaningless gesture."

"Yea," he agreed, "but what isn't meaningless is that you helped her anyway, despite what you believe." One side of his mouth edged up in a crooked smile. "You did it just for her. That's what friends do."

Avoiding his gaze, Brennan shifted a stack of papers together and tapped the edges on the surface of the desk to straighten them. "Does that mean you're taking Angela's side? Do you think I was wrong?" She slipped the papers into an empty manilla folder.

"Nothing doing." Booth laughed and shook his head. "I told you, I am not getting between friends."

She dropped a pencil into a femur-shaped cup, where it landed with a clatter of noise as she switched off the lamp that hung above her keyboard. The atmosphere in the office suddenly changed, becoming dark and mysterious, the only source of light shining from the blue-green glow of the iguana tank. With the folder held close to her chest, Brennan crossed the room to stand in front of him.

"The situation has been resolved so you no longer need to worry about creating discord between us." The odd lighting in the room threw her face into a seductive play of half-shadows, deepening the color of her eyes and picking up sparks of fire in her hair. "It's perfectly alright if you agree with Angela instead of me." She spoke quietly, instinctively responding to the strange stillness that vibrated through the hushed room.

"Bones." The deep timbre of his voice dropped even lower as he held her gaze. His body was still, his pose deceptively casual. "I'm always on your side. Always."

Only inches separated them; she was close enough to feel heat radiating from his large frame, to smell the faint hint of sweetness on his breath from the dark bourbon he'd drunk earlier. The silhouette of her lashes danced across her cheeks as she blinked slowly. "You said you would kill for me."

He didn't hesitate. "Yea."

A moment passed while they simply looked at each other, eyes searching, skimming over the other's face, the way they always did . . . the way they always had, an inaudible conversation weighed down by what couldn't be said.

She broke the silence first.

"You have almost died for me." She spoke in soft words that barely rose above a whisper. "More than once."

His nod was almost imperceptible. "I'd do it again." The husky sound rumbled up from his chest, hinting of murmurs in the dark, of midnight hours and the play of moonlight over bare flesh.

She reacted viscerally; her eyes widened, her breathing became shallow and tight, the tip of her tongue darted out to moisten suddenly dry lips.

Brown eyes locked onto blue.

"I would do the same for you."

His head bent by slow degrees toward her.

"I know."

Her feet shifted an inch closer.

. . . . . . . In the hallway outside, a cleaning cart rattled out of an elevator, shocking them both out of a moment that might have changed everything.

Booth straightened abruptly; Brennan backed up one step.

She cleared her throat self-consciously then awkwardly punched his left shoulder with the knuckles of her right hand. "Because we're partners."

"Right." Booth nodded and smiled immediately, and tapped her shoulder as she had done his. "Back at 'cha. Partner."

"Right."

"Right."

The janitor outside began to whistle a tuneless aria.

"Well," Booth said brightly, "I guess I should get you home . . ."

"Yes!" Brennan suddenly remembered the folder she held tucked to her chest and lifted it up. "I have work so . . ."

He stepped back to allow her to precede him, then fell in at her side as they walked toward the double sliding doors of the exit. "So I guess Angela is going to want to save the whales next."

His teasing earned the response he was hoping for when Brennan looked at him in surprise. "Saving a whale would cost considerably more than $1500."

"Better keep that checkbook handy, then . . ."

.

.

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><p><em>There are so many episodes in Season 5 that just break my heart. Booth and Brennan come so close, so many times, to . . . something, and then it all goes to hell. *sigh* All's well that ends well, though, right?<em>

_Thanks for reading!_


	46. Perfect Timing

_Following the Season 9 premiere, Sarah, writer/owner of the fantastic blog "Bones Theory" (which you're probably already reading and if you aren't you definitely should be), posted a fanfic challenge on the equally awesome "Bonesology" (another must-read site for _Bones_-fans). _

_The challenge:_

Okay, here's the prompt: Booth proposes to Brennan.

Rules:  
>1. Less than 2,000 words<br>2. No mention of Pelant  
>3. Christine is physically in the story (she can be mentioned, but she is not present)<br>4. A unique ring is involved.

_Well, I don't mind if I do. :-)_

_._

_._

_._

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><p><em>.<em>

_._

It had to be perfect.

At the moment, that was all the plan he had.

_It had to be perfect._ He owed her that much.

The perfect time.

The perfect place.

The perfect words.

The perfect ring.

Perfect.

It had to be perfect.

But first, danger loomed, threatening everything he - they - held dear, before it came to a head in a crescendo of violence.

Afterward . . . slowly . . . their lives returned to normal, but it was a normalcy they viewed cautiously, wary of putting too much trust in a fragile sense of peace that could be ripped from them at a moment's notice.

Experience had taught them well.

Finally, though, he was free and the choice was his.

_". . . next time, it's your turn to ask me to marry you," she had said.  
><em>

_"I will. As soon as I can, I will," he had answered.  
><em>

And still he hesitated.

Because it had to be perfect.

His head spun with options . . . with grandiose plans that involved moonlight or starlight or candlelight . . . with practiced words over a dinner that cost a month's salary . . . with a stolen weekend alone in a far off hotel . . . with amusement parks and Ferris wheels stuck at the top and boat rides on the Potomac and picnics on the steps of national monuments and . . .

Nothing.

He had nothing.

It had to be perfect.

_It had to be perfect._

One Sunday afternoon he put their daughter down for a nap and walked into the bedroom.

The bathroom door was open.

She was standing in front of the mirror, dryer in one hand, a thick round brush in the other.

He stopped, frozen in place.

She was in their bathroom. In their bedroom. In their house.

In their life.

And it was perfect.

His life was perfect.

A turn of her chin and she caught sight of him. The sound of the dryer faded with the click of a button.

"Hello." She looked at him curiously when he simply stood there, unable to move, staring at her.

It was a moment before he was capable of speech.

"I love you."

She laid the brush on the counter and turned off the light as she left the bathroom. "I love you, too."

"No, I -" When she was within reach, he cupped her face within the palms of his hands. The kiss he placed on her lips was hard and fierce and passionate, but the fingers against her cheeks trembled. "I love you," he whispered again when his head lifted.

"I know, I -"

"My life right now? Everything we have?" His eyes bored into hers with an intensity that was almost frightening. "It's all I ever wanted. You, Parker, Christine . . . Every morning I get to wake up beside you and I get to live with you and . . . and I am the luckiest man alive. I have everything I ever wanted," he repeated. "Right now. I have everything."

"Booth -"

"But I'm greedy." He smiled and lowered his hands and left her standing there when he went to his bedside table. He returned with a small black velvet box.

Her eyes filled with tears when he dropped to one knee.

"I want one more thing. I want to call you my wife." His eyes were wet, too, when he reached for her hand. "This is my wife, Dr. Temperance Brennan. My wife, Bones . . ."

A sound between a laugh and a sob escaped behind the fingers that flew to cover her mouth.

He opened the box. Inside was a lustrous silver band with a center that glowed with a warm, golden bronze hue.

"Booth -"

He swallowed. "It's titanium," he told her, almost nervous. "Titanium and petrified wood." Her eyes flew to his in surprise. "This ring will last forever." His whisper was a rough scratch of sound. "But it's not enough." He held her gaze. "I'll love you one day more."

"Booth -"

His hand shook around hers. "Will you marry me, Bones? Will you be my wife and my partner and my happiness and my laughter and my . . ."

She threw herself at him, knocking him to his back and rolling with him on the floor as his arms surrounded her. "Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes." She punctuated each word with a kiss that tasted like her tears.

And his.

He raised her hand and pushed the ring into its final resting place. "It's not shiny," he apologized when she raised her fingers to stare at it. "I can get you something else if -"

The hand that wore his ring curved around his jaw. "It's perfect," she reassured him with misty, smiling eyes. "I don't want shiny." She shook her head and touched her lips to his. "I want forever."

Their kiss lasted until his back began to protest against the uncomfortably hard floor.

He couldn't resist one more. "Now do you believe in fate?"

The rich, throaty sound of her laughter made him forget all about his back when she looped her arms around his shoulders and drew him close again.

And it was perfect.

.

.

* * *

><p><em>They're getting married... :-D<em>

_Thanks for reading!_


	47. The Story in the Headline

_So, there's a wedding on Monday! I'm guessing you already knew that . . . _

_Anyway, this is just me, getting in one last little poke. Just a wee tiny one. Because I couldn't resist, and because I got a hug from James Marsters today so frankly, I can do whatever the hell I want. :-D  
><em>

_I haven't watched any of the hundredthousands of sneak peeks or videos out there but it's impossible not to see the comments on Twitter so you should consider this as having spoilers for the October 21 wedding episode. _

_(Did I mention I got a hug from James Marsters today? Yea? Well, I'll probably mention it a few more times, too. ;-D)_

_._

_._

_._

* * *

><p><em>.<em>

.

It was the day before Thanksgiving. She was standing in line in a PX in Frankfurt, Germany, waiting to purchase what would constitute her contribution to a group holiday dinner being held the next day, when the cover of a respected, long-running women's magazine caught her eye.

_Kathy and Andy finally wed!_

That headline, though, wasn't what grabbed her attention.

It was the photo beneath it.

Temperance Brennan and Seeley Booth, beautiful and handsome in wedding finery, posed beneath a canopy of colorful blossoms, smiling happily for the camera.

A shocked breath caught and stuck in her throat.

_Best-selling author Temperance Brennan marries long-time partner Seeley Booth. Story, page 23._

Hannah plucked the magazine from the rack and rifled through the pages quickly.

_Temperance Brennan, author of the Kathy Reichs _Bones_ novels, was married to Seeley Booth on October 21, in the gardens surrounding the Jeffersonian Institute in Washington, D.C. _

Beneath that short blurb, glossy photos were arranged artistically over the centerfold, two-page spread. The brief descriptions beneath each one told the rest of the story.

_The groom's son, Parker, 13, acted as best man. Wearing Donna Morgan is the maid of honor and best friend of the bride, Angela Montenegro Hodgins. _

_Long rumored to be the inspiration for Kathy's on again/off again love interest Andy Lister, Temperance laughed off the suggestion that her marriage to Seeley Booth means Kathy's love life is now in for smoother sailing. _"My characters are completely fictional,"_ she insisted. _"I don't know why everyone assumes otherwise."

_Judging by this kiss at the altar, if Kathy and Andy follow the actions of their creator they'll have many happy years ahead of them!_

_Temperance and Seeley's daughter Christine, 19 months old, shows off her best toddler moves on the dance floor with big brother Parker._

_The couple enjoying a romantic moment. _"I've loved you since the first time I saw you,_" the groom said in his handwritten vows. _"I'm glad you finally caught up with me."

_The newlyweds race through a shower of rose petals on their way to a honeymoon in Argentina. Congratulations, Temperance and Seeley! And, dare we add, Kathy and Andy!_

Hannah studied the photos over and over. Married. Temperance and Seeley were . . .

Everything clicked into place as the pieces of a puzzle she thought she'd already solved rearranged themselves into a much different, much sharper picture.

It all made sense now.

The phone calls he'd always answered, no matter the time or place.

Her name, always cropping up. With him. With Parker.

"_We're just partners_," repeated like a mantra.

How she'd known, somehow, to ask Temperance for advice about the perfect gift.

Why Temperance hadn't hesitated, had immediately suggested the phone.

And then warned her against hurting him.

"_How is it a guy like you doesn't have a girlfriend back home?" _She'd teased him, laughing and silly because that's what their relationship was then. Playful. Light. Fun.

"_There . . . was someone."_ He'd answered her casual question seriously, his dark eyes shadowed by remembered pain. _"She . . . she didn't love me back."_

Temperance. He'd been talking about Temperance.

It all made so much sense now.

She studied the photo of the couple's romantic moment. Seated alone at a table, Booth held Brennan's left hand, his thumb on the wedding ring she wore, his eyes intent on hers. Brennan was leaning forward, smiling, and it was obvious the photographer had caught them just before a kiss.

_Oh, Seeley._ Hannah's eyes misted over. _You were wrong. You were so wrong._

Her gaze traveled down to the image of the blonde-haired cherub in the fluffy, pale blue dress.

_. . . Temperance and Seeley's daughter Christine, 19 months old . . . _

She was a beautiful child.

_At least it didn't take you long to figure it out, did it?_

"Hannah?"

She looked up at the sound of her cameraman's voice and realized with a start that she was holding up the line.

The cashier eyed her quizzically. "Did you want the magazine, too?"

She didn't hesitate. "No." She shook her head and stuffed it back on the rack. "Sorry, I was just catching up on the gossip stateside."

"You need to go online if you want the latest gossip, hon." The woman spoke in friendly tones as she scanned the items from the conveyer belt. "Nowadays, those magazines are just old news."

"Yea." After offering her credit card, Hannah sent one last glance toward the cover image of the smiling couple before she turned with determination to the cashier. "You're right. It was just old news."

.

.

.

.

* * *

><p><em>(Okay, now I'm done with Hannah.)<em>

_(Maybe.)_

_:-D_

_Thanks for reading!_


	48. The Play in the Date

His eyes honed in on her instinctively as he entered the restaurant. Seated alone at the long, polished bar, the muted golden light that colored the interior of the space enhanced the chestnut gleam of her dark hair and turned her skin into warm honey. She was beautiful in green silk that shimmered as she moved and he was immediately captivated.

He made a beeline to her side and slid onto the empty stool next to her.

Their glances locked briefly when she looked up as he sat down. He smiled confidently.

Without a word, she turned her attention back to the book lying open in front of her.

He blinked in surprise. Frowning, he lifted a finger to the bartender while he considered his next move.

"Not many people bring a book to a bar." He spoke in low tones as he leaned in close.

Silver eyes the color of a thundercloud met his. "Is that a statement of fact or merely an observation?"

Nonplussed, it took him a moment to respond. "Uh . . ." He tried the smile again. "Just, you know, making friendly conversation."

"Oh." Her gaze skimmed his face once before she turned to her book again, effectively dismissing him.

Booth's wide shoulders slumped as he let out an exasperated breath. "Come on, Bones," he murmured, holding her eyes when she looked over in surprise at the sound of her name. "You gotta give me something to work with here."

"Why?" Brennan asked, puzzled. "I thought the object of this game was for you to pick me up? Aren't we supposed to pretend that we don't know each other?"

"Well, yea," he agreed, "but it doesn't work if you ignore me!" When her brow wrinkled again, he sighed. "You know," he explained, "I flirt with you." He gave her another wickedly charming smile. "You flirt with me, we flirt with each other and," his shoulder nudged hers, "then we see what happens." The teasing light in his face became something warm and sultry.

He was devastatingly handsome in a dark jacket worn over a pale blue shirt left unbuttoned to reveal the smooth skin of his throat and Brennan's thoughts went immediately to the end of the evening. "You mean, we go home and have sex." The bald statement caused more than one nearby head to turn toward them curiously.

Booth metaphorically threw up his hands. "Forget it. Let's just order some dinner and -"

"No." Brennan shook her head emphatically. "I just wanted to clarify the parameters of the charade. I understand." She waved a hand toward the door. "Approach me again. I know how to respond now."

"You want me to go outside," he asked in disbelief, "and come back in again?"

"Yes." She nodded as if surprised at the question. "It will give me time to get into character."

He stared at her without speaking for a full minute then slipped off the stool. "Fine." Muttering to himself, he stalked back to the bar's entrance.

His spot was occupied almost immediately. When Brennan looked over, she met a pair of pale blue eyes set in a ruddy, alcohol flushed face. "Hello there." The stranger offered the greeting with a leer.

"That seat is taken." She shook her head quickly. "You have to leave."

"Who, the big guy?" Her new companion's oily smile seemed fixed in place. "Don't worry, honey," he laughed. "After the brush-off you just gave him, he won't be back anytime soon."

"You're quite mistaken -"

"Hey, pal." Booth suddenly loomed up behind the other man and tapped him none-too-gently on the shoulder. "You're in my seat. Take a hike." The stern expression on his face brooked no disagreement.

"This is my husband," Brennan explained. "We're playing a game in which we pretend we don't know each other so he can pick me up as if we're having a one night stand, and then we're going to go home and have sex."

There was a beat of silence between the three of them as the unwelcome third wheel looked from Booth to Brennan. The smarmy expression faded as he slid off the stool. "Well," he managed as he edged his way carefully around Booth's threatening figure, "good luck with that."

They watched him disappear into the growing crowd, then Brennan lifted a shoulder casually. "One more time. I'll guard your seat more vigilantly this time -"

"Oh, no." Booth shook his head and, with an air of determination, sat down beside her once more. "I'm not going to go out and come back in again. Let's just -"

"Well hey, you guys!" Angela's cheerful voice had Brennan spinning around on her stool and Booth slumping forward in defeat. "Having a date night, too, are you?"

"Yes." Brennan shifted the book in front of her to make room for the purse Angela sat down. "We're pretending we don't know each other, so Booth can pick me up."

"Bones -" Booth's groan was muffled behind the hand that rubbed down his face.

Hodgins chuckled as Angela gaped. "You can't do that at the Founding Fathers," she chided. "You have to go to some dive bar where no one knows you." She tapped Brennan lightly on the arm. "Hodgins and I know this great place -"

"You and Dr. Hodgins play this game?" Brennan was intrigued.

Jack and Angela shared a memory-filled wink before Angela wiggled her eyebrows suggestively at Brennan. "I wear this red wig and -"

"Okay, that's enough." Booth cut off the anecdote quickly. "Never mind the . . . Never mind." He put a hand beneath Brennan's elbow and nudged her to her feet. "Forget it. We're all here, so let's just get a table and have some dinner and . . . and . . . Look, there's an empty spot over there." Taking their agreement for granted, he steered everyone toward it.

Angela leaned forward and spoke into Brennan's ear. "I'll write down that address for you, sweetie."

Brennan's head tilted back. "I'd like to borrow the wig, too."

.

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><p>.<p>

_The best laid plans, etc. etc. :-) _

_Thanks for reading!_


	49. If At First You Don't Succeed

_As requested, a follow-up to_ The Play in the Date._ :-)_

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><p><em>.<em>

Every head turned when she walked through the door.

The vibrant scarlet of the form-fitting dress she wore should have clashed violently with the sleek, chin length red wig that hid her natural, darker tresses but instead her skin gleamed like alabaster and her eyes, enhanced by layers of dramatically smudged dark makeup, shone as if lit from within.

She was a bright splash of color in the dirty, dimly lit bar and more than a few conversations ended abruptly as she instantly became the focus of everyone's attention.

At the other end of the room, Booth's chin dropped as he took in her appearance. His eyes traveled slowly from the top of her head to the red-tipped toenails peeking out from impractically high heels . . . heels that made her already long legs stretch further than sin itself. He swallowed as his mouth went dry.

He was instantly aroused . . . and just as quickly furious.

Across the smoke-filled span that separated them, Brennan stared back. Dressed casually in a black brushed cotton shirt worn open over a fitted black t-shirt tucked neatly into the waistband of a pair of faded, well-worn jeans, the look emphasized his lean hips and the flat, straight plane of his stomach, even as it drew attention to the wide span of his shoulders and the deep, thickly muscled expanse of his chest. He looked hard and dark and overwhelmingly male . . . and wholly in his element.

And she was horrified.

The sound of her heels clicking against the floor as she strode toward him was lost in the screech of the heavy metal music that played over the loudspeaker.

He threw the pool cue in his hand down on the table and stomped toward her.

They met in the middle of the floor. The rest of the crowded, noisy bar disappeared.

"Where have you been?" he hissed. "And what the hell are you wearing?"

"What are you doing?" she shot back. "You have to stop, immediately!"

"I wasn't gambling, I was just playing! What happened to meeting at 8:00? It's after nine!"

"Zach woke up, I had to feed him before I left." Her hands went to her hips. "Gambling or playing, it's too dangerous for you to play pool!"

"Without the betting, it's just a game of skill." He leaned in toward her. "You could have called!"

"I wanted to surprise you." Her fears were nowhere near appeased. "I should have considered the risk of this type of venue."

"I was only playing against myself, I'm fine." He brushed off her concern before his eyes traveled up and down her body again. He was done talking about his impulsive game of eight-ball. "You definitely surprised me - I know I haven't seen you wear this before."

The air between them thickened as he studied her. A web of ribbon made up the front of the dress, forming a deep vee that started at a narrow point just above her navel and widened as it expanded across her chest, leaving the white skin of her cleavage almost bare and the round globes within exposed to his gaze.

Brennan shifted beneath the heat of his stare. "Angela loaned it to me. She said I had nothing suitable for what we had planned tonight." One shoulder lifted and the thin strap that crossed her shoulder moved with her. "She also said I filled it out better than she did. I assume she meant because my breasts are larger."

Booth didn't respond. In truth, he couldn't speak. As she shrugged, the tiniest sliver of one dusky pink areola appeared, and then slipped again beneath a ribbon of red satin. His head emptied as lust pooled heavily in his groin, his thoughts fleeing . . . except for one.

Behind him, just a few feet away, was a pool table. In a handful of steps he could have her spread out on the green baize and . . .

" . . . with the wig."

His gaze flew back to her face, exotically different beneath the fringe of bangs and the sweep of bright red hair against her chin but still the one that haunted every minute of his life, awake or asleep.

She met his eyes and stilled as instantly as a doe sensing the approach of a hunter. Her nostrils flared delicately as she picked up the scent of his arousal; her lashes fell in one slow, sensual sweep as her lips parted in a smile that promised to fulfill his every wicked thought.

He hardened to the point of pain.

Her hand dropped to the tiny bow that hung at the apex of the vee of ribbon. "Do you like my dress?" The question was a husky purr of sound that sent fire roaring through his veins.

A growl escaped his throat as one arm shot out to encircle her waist and haul her roughly into his chest. His head descended, his lips savaged hers in a kiss that left them both breathless and clinging to each other for support.

"Should I go out and come back in again?"

The barely audible query drew a weak chuckle from him. "No."

"Are you sure?" She nibbled delicately at his jaw.

He put just enough space between them to enable him to hook a finger in that taunting red satin bow. "We're going home," he whispered. "Right now." He tugged gently and watched as the shimmering scarlet web that crossed her chest tightened. His eyes were hot on hers as he made a vow. "And I'm going to unwrap you like a present on Christmas morning."

Her pupils dilated, turning the molten silver to black as the same erotic visions filled both their thoughts.

Booth grabbed her hand and, ignoring the avidly watching crowd, tugged her toward the door at such a fast clip she had to run to keep up. He held it open and with a hand at the small of her back, shoved her out into the warm summer air.

"Are you sure we're playing this game correctly?"

The door fell shut with a bang.

"We're playing it exactly the right way. Trust me."

.

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><p>.<p>

_Thanks for reading!_


	50. Midnight Magic

_JulieSBXMomX asked for a story about a New Year's Eve party with a younger Booth and Brennan, trying to celebrate while keeping their relationship a secret. I thought that sounded like a bit of timely fun so here you go! (And thank you very much for the prompt!)_

_This is set during S6 but admittedly plays a bit loose with the timeline so I could fit the holiday in. Work with me, people. It's fanfic . . . I make shit up. :-)_

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><p>.<p>

"Do we have to go?"

Brennan's sideways glance at Booth was more than a little perturbed. "Why do you keep asking that question? My answer has not changed."

His shoulders lifted and fell as he laid one wrist casually over the steering wheel; knowing he was pushing his luck, he looked away from the road long enough to offer her a wide grin. "Because I keep hoping it will."

From the heavy sigh she released, he knew the smile hadn't worked. "Well, it won't." Facing the window, she refused to look at him again. "You don't have to attend the party if you'd rather not go. I, however, have assured Angela that I will be there so I am going."

"Come on, Bones." His tone turned cajoling as he reached for her hand. "It's our first New Year's Eve. I had other plans -"

That got her attention; her chin swiveled in his direction. "We've spent this holiday together several times."

Booth was already shaking his head. "No, that was different. Now we're really together." He lifted her fingers to his lips, his dark eyes sultry on hers as the SUV rolled to a stop at a red light. "I was thinking . . . a bottle of champagne . . . fireplace . . . blankets on the floor . . ." When her pupils widened and her breath caught in an involuntary gasp, he pressed his advantage by suckling at the end of one index finger. "Just you and me . . ."

The moment ended abruptly with the impatient blaring of a car's horn behind them.

Brennan dropped her hand to his leg and kneaded the heavy muscle of his thigh as Booth's attention returned to the road. "That sounds very appealing," she admitted, her voice husky, her gaze fixed on his profile. "Perhaps we can put your plans in place after the party."

"Can we leave early?" The question was out before he could prevent it.

She moued in faint disapproval. "Angela has been looking forward to this party for weeks, Booth. Planning it has given her something else to think about instead of the genetic testing she and Hodgins will undergo in a few weeks. It's my duty as her best friend to be there to support her - and to inform anyone who asks that a half-glass of champagne will do no harm to her unborn child." At Booth's amused and puzzled frown, she shrugged. "She was very clear about my responsibilities."

Booth gave in grudgingly. "Okay, fine. We'll pretend we aren't dating for four hours and then go find that fireplace."

"Not telling anyone that we're seeing each other was your idea," Brennan pointed out. "I'm perfectly happy to have it widely known -"

"I didn't mean . . ." Distracted by the flashing lights that marked their destination, he found a parking spot next to the rest of the law enforcement vehicles at the crime scene, turned off the ignition and put a hand on Brennan's arm before she could open her door. "I just want this to be ours for a little while," he said quietly, his eyes intent on hers. "Before everyone finds out and they start making a big deal out of it and butting in - and you know they will," he grumbled before she could argue. "They all think our business is their business."

"Angela knows and she has been very restrained -"

A hand slapping against the hood was their only warning before Cam pulled Booth's door open. Her sharp glare moved over both of them. "Can you two finish whatever argument you're having after we get this victim back to the lab? It's going to be messy."

After a silent exchange of glances that promised to revisit the topic later, they got to work.

.

.

.

Two days later - and three hours, 45 minutes into it, Booth admitted to himself that as parties went, he'd definitely been to worse. There was plenty of alcohol, and enough heavy _hors d'oeuvres_ being offered by white-coated servers to keep all but the most determined drunkenness to a minimum. People were laughing, a few couples danced on the heated balcony and a festive, merry wave of chatter hung over the entire gathering.

And the scenery . . . an avaricious light gleamed as his searching gaze found Brennan standing with Angela and another woman he only vaguely recognized from the lab. He definitely had no complaints about the scenery.

He sipped from two fingers of scotch as he studied her slim figure from afar, sweeping over the deliberately messy scoop of curls piled high off her neck, down the graceful lines of the scarlet dress that hugged her waist and hips, to the daring height of the glittering silver heels on her feet. He wondered idly how many pins held her hair in place, how many he'd have to remove later before it fell in disarray around her shoulders . . .

As if she felt his scrutiny, her head turned and he was trapped in the quicksilver mercury of her eyes. She walked away without a word to Angela, leaving her friend in mid-sentence as she took a step toward Booth, irresistibly drawn to his side by the magnetic pull of their mutual attraction.

She didn't stop until she stood so close, their toes were bare inches apart.

The scent of her perfume filled every breath he took.

He didn't even look at the table behind him when he set his drink aside.

They might have been the last two people in the world, for all the notice they took of anyone else. Focused on each other, safe within a bubble that blocked out the buzz of conversation and laughter of the party, they were alone in a crowd of dozens.

And those dozens were fascinated witnesses, lulled into a fast-spreading silence by the heat that sparked like fireworks in the air between the partners, an absence of sound that began with those closest to the couple and radiated outward until only the music from the balcony played on to provide a faint soundtrack to the moment.

Brennan brushed a nonexistent speck of dust from the finely knit black wool of his suit coat. Her eyes traveled the span of his wide shoulders, across the pulse beating visibly beneath his golden skin in the open neck of the pale blue shirt he wore beneath it.

Her eyes lifted to his. "Did I tell you that you look very handsome tonight?"

One edge of his mouth curved up. "You might have mentioned it." He studied the glittering silver irises ringed with smudged grey kohl and swallowed as his mouth went dry. "Did I tell you that you . . . are stunning."

His heartbeat stuttered to a stop and then restarted with a thump when she smiled mischievously. "You might have mentioned it."

Around them, raised eyebrows met surprised, open-mouthed expressions.

"How many pins are in your hair?"

She blinked, confused, at the gruffly-voiced question.

"Why?"

A smile that promised the delights of sin worth the punishments of hell crossed his face. "Because I'm trying to figure out how long it's going to take me to mess it up."

There wasn't a woman in the room who didn't want to trade places with her.

Booth's watched beeped twice.

"It's midnight." One arm curved around her waist and pulled her into his heat.

Those watching held their collective breath.

Her hands slid up his chest to link behind his neck. "I believe it's traditional to exchange a kiss at midnight on New Year's Eve."

"Damn right it is." His head lowered as he claimed her lips with his.

A gasp came from someone at the back as passion flared hot. Their kiss sucked the air from the room, scorching the audience and sending up in a brilliant burst of flames every protestation of _just partners_ they'd ever made.

Everyone was silent, struck mute by the shock of bearing witness to a moment few believed would ever happen.

It was that silence that finally penetrated their impenetrable bubble.

Still kissing, Booth's eyes opened at the same time Brennan's lashes began to flutter. Slowly, their lips separated as their faces turned toward the room - and their fascinated friends and coworkers.

Into the hushed air, Caroline Julian raised a noise-maker to her mouth and blew. The colorful paper unwound with a discordant blurp.

"Bllllrrrrrrrrp."

Angela was the first to start cheering and clapping; her emotional celebration acted as a release valve and soon they were surrounded by congratulations and pulled apart by hugs and well wishes.

Several minutes passed before they were left in relative privacy again.

"What the hell just happened?"

Brennan had no answer to Booth's helpless question.

With a rueful chuckle, he pulled her into his arms again.

She lifted her face for another kiss. "Happy New Year, Booth."

"It's going to be a great year."

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><p><em>Here's to a wonderful 2014 to all of you! Happy New Year!<em>


	51. Practice Makes Perfect

_Episode tag for 3.12 "The Baby in the Bough." _

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><p>.<p>

It was almost one a.m. when Booth was jarred awake by the strident ring of his cell phone. He fumbled for it without opening his eyes; by instinct alone, his thumb hit the answer button.

"Booth."

"Something's wrong! I need your help!"

The fear in Brennan's voice cleared the fog of sleep from his head.

"Bones?" He sat up, instantly on alert, already reaching for the jeans he'd left draped over the back of a chair. "What is it? What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"It's Andy! He won't stop crying!" Sure enough, the loud wailing of a very unhappy infant almost drowned out her words. "I've done everything the books suggest but it's lasted for hours! I don't know what to do!"

He paused only long enough to grab the car keys from the kitchen counter before he raced out of his apartment.

"I'm on my way, okay? I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

"Thank you." The relief in her voice was palpable. "Thank you, Booth."

He flipped on the siren and made it in ten.

He could hear the baby crying when he knocked on Brennan's door. When she opened it and greeted him with Andy in her arms, the sound was loud enough to make him wince.

"Whoa. Someone's not happy."

As he stepped inside, he divested himself of his jacket and stuffed it in Brennan's hands in exchange for the screaming child.

"Hey, little man." His voice dropped to a low, soothing croon as he tucked the boy against his shoulder and began to pace automatically. "What's up with you, huh? Why are you giving your Auntie Bones so much trouble tonight?"

Brennan tossed the soft leather coat aside without looking to see where it landed. As Booth walked in a slow circuit through the living room to her kitchen and back again, she matched him step for step, staying right beside him.

"I don't know what's wrong," she said again. "He's not hungry. He has a clean diaper - although I suppose it's possible he's urinated since I changed him."

The volume of the baby's cries increased, despite the rhythmic patting on his back and the deep, reassuring murmurs meant to comfort him.

"I've done that, too," Brennan insisted. "I sang to him as well. Nothing worked! He won't sleep. He won't eat. He just cries! One expert suggested leaving him alone in a dark room but it seems unfair to punish him because he's unable to verbalize his needs."

The low table in front of the sofa caught Booth's eye when he turned to begin another lap through the apartment. More than half a dozen obviously new books lay scattered on top, all concerning infant and child development or touting advice on behavior and education. He looked at Brennan then, really looked at her, for the first time since he'd arrived. With great effort, he managed not to laugh.

She looked . . . frazzled. Wispy tendrils of dark hair brushed against her cheeks, having escaped from a ponytail that drooped low on the back of her neck. A wet stain marred the shoulder of her red blouse, there was a dried smear of something yellow near her chin and, ever so faintly, just a hint of the smell of sour milk around her.

He found himself oddly charmed by the sight. He'd seen her angry before. He'd seen her weary and sad and determined and, on rare occasions, uncertain.

He'd never seen her rattled. Discombobulated, even. It was adorable.

He bounced Andy in his arms and pressed his lips against the soft, flushed cheek to hide a smile. His whisper was lost in the child's loud wailing.

"_Remind me to buy you a pony someday, kid." _

"Do you think it's the key?" Brennan's anxious gaze was on the baby. "Perhaps it's causing an obstruction in his bowels. We should take him to the emergency room . . ."

Booth shook his head.

"No, he's not in pain, he's just mad." He switched Andy to the other arm and ran a practiced hand over the small limbs. "See how loose he is? He's not curled up and tight like he's got something hurting him." He moved the little boy back to his shoulder and kept walking.

Another loop through the apartment brought the edge of the diaper bag to his attention. An idea occurred to him.

"Is there a blanket or anything in that bag? Something his mother might have packed?"

Brennan hurried to check and came up with a thin, rather ragged old receiving blanket. "There's this but it's too small to be of any use."

"That's exactly what I need."

Booth reached for it and when she handed it over, deftly juggled both infant and blanket until the threadbare piece of cotton was spread loosely over his shoulder. When he was done, he put his hand on the baby's head and tucked him close to the soft material.

"Parker used to cry like this when Rebecca had a night class," he explained to Brennan, his voice barely above a whisper, as Andy grabbed a fistful of the blanket and rubbed his nose in it. The screams slowly faded to hiccuping sobs. "Sometimes it would help if I wrapped him in one of her nightgowns or a t-shirt."

Brennan's face showed dismay. "He misses his mother. She probably washed their clothes together - the blanket smells like her. I should have considered that."

"You would have," Booth assured her. "I've just been through it before, that's all." They were still walking, their steps matching foot for foot. Against the warmth of the wide shoulder beneath his cheek, the exhausted, overwrought infant slowly began to succumb to sleep.

"This is why I should never have children of my own." Tired and drained in her own right, Brennan's eyes filled with tears. "The olfactory sense is tied to memory. It's especially strong in infants - I know that! I do! I should have thought of it when Andy didn't respond to my other attempts to calm him and instead I -"

"Don't be so hard on yourself," Booth interrupted the self-blame session. "A baby screaming in your ear can make you forget your own name sometimes." He crooked his head to get a better look at the tiny face. "I think he's out now. Did you get a bed for him?"

Brennan led him to the spare bedroom where she'd set up the portable crib purchased earlier that day. When Booth bent over to place him inside, however, Andy jolted awake.

"Okay, okay. It's okay. I've gotcha." The soothing whispers were back. Three more laps around the living room and they tried again, with the same results.

After one more unsuccessful attempt, Booth sank to the couch with Andy nestled on his chest. Content and comfortable, the baby rubbed his cheek into the blanket, yawned, and slept.

Brennan sat down beside them.

"Perhaps it wasn't a good idea for me to agree to act as guardian for Russ and Amy's daughters. If I can't handle one infant for one night -"

"Babies take practice, Bones." Booth let his head fall back to the top of the sofa and closed his eyes. "No one just knows how to be a parent right off the bat. You figure it out as you go along. The important thing is that you love 'em and you do the best you can. The rest takes care of itself." One eye opened to snag hers. His mouth edged up in a crooked smile. "You would be a great mom."

Brennan looked at the sleeping baby, her expression sad, and touched the edge of the blanket with the tip of one finger.

"We have to find out who killed his mother, Booth. He deserves that much."

"We will." After a wide, jaw-cracking yawn, Booth closed his eyes again. "Five minutes and we'll try putting him down again."

"Five minutes."

Less than two minutes later, they were all asleep.

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><p><em>Thanks for reading!<em>


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